


And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live

by shinkonokokoro



Category: The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Non-powered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 59,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none</p><p>Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Cap-Kink prompt which you can read [here](http://capkink.livejournal.com/1973.html?thread=1930677#t1930677).
> 
> Title is from 'Your Song,' originally by Elton John, also features in Moulin Rouge.

  Tony might consider himself lucky. He does what he wants because he’s rich, he’s attractive, he’s popular. Popular in that the public loves him whether he’s face-down in the gutter or on top of the world. So he lets the words fall from his mouth as they may, like letting the chips fall where they will, damn the consequences. Why have a filter when you didn’t need one? Why bother censorship when it didn’t matter? Why put forth effort when it wasn’t required. Because if Tony Stark could be his ornery, changeable, half-charming self, why bother pretending to be someone different.

The company was his. At 17, it was his. Obie, his father’s Deputy Director, was technically in charge while Tony was still under-age. But when he turned 20, he was allowed to assume his responsibilities as Executive Director. Which he did, whilst still retaining his sub-title as head of R&D. It was, after all, his forte. It was what he was best at. Using his mind and his fingers to create something new, something exciting. Something brilliant. And he did.

Except for when he was in board meetings. His phone buzzed again in his pocket. Prototype Stark phone. It was amazing. Still some bugs in it, but he’d get it taken care of before it ever went to production. He slipped it out of his pocket to secretly check the caller-ID. A number he didn’t recognise. The same number, however, as the one that’d been calling him for the past hour. He sighed.

“Something wrong, Tony?” Obie asked, leaning towards him under the guise of shifting some papers over.

Tony made a show of looking at them. “I just have... I dunno. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Obie smiled at him. “I hope not.”

He frowned but went back to paying attention to Marshall Grey of general counsel. He’d answer his phone later, after the meeting was over. Hopefully these windy old bags of money and stupid advice would wrap up soon.

Obie patted his wrist and gave him a small smile, not really looking at Tony.

Sometimes, it reminded him of his father, when Obadiah did that. It felt like a dismissal. But he’d always been in Tony’s corner, so he let it slide. Of all the people in his life, Obadiah Stane was the one who had supported Tony the most, validated Tony’s dreams the most frequently, and listened the most attentively. Actually listened. Not just nod along or tell him to shut up, like Howard had done. Tony’d have thought that engineering and creating would have been something that he could have shared with his father. Seeing as they both enjoyed it. But Howard was always too busy with business, women, making a name for himself, and drinking to ever pay Tony too much attention. Any attention.

This was taking too long. He leaned over to Obie. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back.”

Obie nodded distractedly, jotting down notes.

Tony snuck out, making the appropriate apologetic faces and smoothing down the front of his jacket. He breathed a sigh of relief in the empty hallway. Ducking around an abandoned corner he checked his phone again. Four messages. He dialled his voicemail and leaned against the wall to listen in peace _._

 _“Mr. Stark, this is Colonel Karen Breyers of the United States Marine Corps. You were on Lieutenant Colonal Rhodes call list. I am regretfully sorry to inform you of his passing._ ”

Tony didn’t hear any more. Sagging against the wall, he stared at his phone, feelings buzzing along his bones until his hand shook so much he dropped the phone. A distant part of his brain said Bad for circuitry! but the rest of him didn’t much care.

He was still there when Obie found him after the meeting ended.

“Tony? Where the hell are ya!” Obie rounded the corner and pounded over to him until he was standing in front of Tony, hands on his hips. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Rhodey’s dead...” he said, staring at the wall as if the awful wallpaper would change. “He’s dead.”

“Oh Tony...” Then Obie was all sympathy and soft smiles. His big hands came down on Tony’s knees, using them as leverage to pull Tony closer, tucking him against Obie’s chest. They were the only hugs he got.

He hiccupped and shoved Obie away to escape to his office where he could lock the door, shut out the light of the windows, get drunk and cry for the only friend who had taken his shit. And if he was really honest, the only friend he had period.

Over the next four days, Tony listened to all four messages. He half-dialled the number to Colonel Karen Breyers personal line, but never managed to complete it. From her messages, however, he learned that Rhodey’s body was en route back to the U.S., and the funeral would be on Monday. He would be buried with full honours. He’d died in action. A smart missile. No other details. He listened to the voicemails until he was sick of them and chucked his phone against the wall. And then limited himself to an hour of tears, heart-sick at the loss of his only friend.

Day two and a half after the discovery of his best friend’s death, he called up Colonel Karen Breyers and was half-way through a message asking about the missile when his phone beeped to let him know another call was in-coming. He answered.

“Mr. Stark, this is—”

“Colonel Karen Breyers,” he said, knowing her voice thoroughly. “And call me ‘Tony,’ please.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. S—Tony. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He barked a cold laugh. Then coughed. “I... I’m sorry. To you. As well. I just... I wanted to call about...Something didn’t sit right. I just had a question.”

“Go on,” she said tiredly.

“The missile. You said it was a smart missile?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you... Who’s was it?”

“It was Stark made, Sir.”

He reeled back, phone pressed tight to his ear, lungs fighting for air to make his body work.

“Mr. S—Tony?”

He tried for breath again, making a horrible wheezing sound instead.

“Tony? Tony!” Colonel Karen Breyers barked over the line.

“Thank you,” he croaked. Numbers, sales, world satellites, and geography tumbled around in his head. Shit.

“Sir, are you alright.”

“I’ll...be.” He hung up and sagged back into the plush leather of his sofa. Then pulled up his laptop to do research.

Friday, he was able to corner Obie and have him call a meeting. He cleared his throat as he smoothed the front of his suit jacket down, standing at the head of the table. All eyes on him. No pressure. He closed his eyes, just a minute, pretend it was a blink, don’t let them see weakness, and then sighed. “I’ve come to an executive decision.”

Obie sat straighter in his chair, corners of his mouth tipping down in a frown of disapproval.

Tony repressed the cringe and shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. “It’s come to my attention that Stark weapons aren’t remaining in the hands they’re made for. My...” He cleared his throat again and fought to keep his voice level. “In the wake of...” Fuck. “My best friend lieutenant James Rhodes was a recent victim of Stark weaponry. He was one of our own men. United States military. That’s not what the Stark weapons department is for.” Obie was giving him a narrow-eyed look. He forged onwards. “As such, Stark weapons production can’t be allowed to continue if they’re going to fall into the wrong hands.”

Even if Tony wanted to say more, everyone was suddenly talking. Objections, disagreements, varying opinions. Tony couldn’t get another word in edgewise with everyone clammouring for other options and flat-out refusals.

Then Obie stood. “Alright. Enough! Tony.” He turned a kind eye on him. “While we understand that this is a horrifying and tragic event, I think it might be a good idea to take a step back on this one and wait until you’re a little more objective.”

“Objective. Ob _jective_? Obie, our weapons— _my_ weapons killed my best friend! That’s unacceptable.”

“Mr. Stark, weapons production and R&D is our most productive source of income,” one of the board members said.

“I know,” Tony said.

Obie quickly covered him. “Tony’s well aware of that.”

“And there are other routes to take!” Tony inserted stubbornly.

“Of course there are. But this is a decision that’s not to be made lightly--”

“I’ve only spent the past three days thinking about it!” Tony protested.

“But you’ve not talked to anyone about it?” Obie asked with a tilt of his head that indicated Tony’s error.

“Well no, but it’s something I feel strongly about—”

“Of course you do. This was your best friend. But we have a lot of current responsibilities in weapons production right now. We have a lot of business contracts that we can’t just bail on, Tony, unless you’d like to see the company go under.”

He swallowed.

“It’s definitely something that we can talk about, however. And,” Obie said with a significant look around at the now-less-disgruntled board members, “it’s not a decision that has to be made today. Right, Tony?”

All heads swivelled towards him. Most with derision and scorn. Many with bored expressions that spoke to their confidence in his abilities, or apparent lack-there-of. He swallowed again. “I...”

“Great!” Obie clapped his hands and all attention was back on him. “Thank you, everyone, for your time.”

And just like that they were dismissed and filing out of the room, grumbling to one another and chuckling. At him, he imagined. Laughing at his inexperience. Laughing at his sentimentality. He stayed at the head of the table, frowning down at the patterns in the wood until everyone was gone. Save for Obie.

“I want to stop weapons production,” he said again.

Obie settled a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know. I understand. That’s... that’s real rough, Tones. It sucks, is what. But we just _can’t_ do that right now. You understand?”

“No. No I don’t! It’s stupid! We _can_ just stop! There’s no reaso—”

“ _To_ ny. Tony. We can’t just let down hundreds of investors and share-holders. You’ve got to understand. If we let go of our military contracts, then we’ll lose a good 65% of our business. Stark Industries would go under. Is that any way to hold up your old man’s legacy?”

Tony snorted, lip curling up.

“Hey. Hey now. Don’t be like that. Your old man did some great things for this world.”

“Oh hooray. He helped humanity kill itself faster!” He waved his hands around.

“Tony,” his mentor said sternly. “Don’t speak poorly of the dead.”

He flinched. “It’s not...” He took a deep breath. “Rhodey’s gone, Obie. You don’t understand. His blood is on _my_ hands!”

“Tony, don’t be ridiculous!”

“It is!” He stepped away and started pacing in tight circles. “It’s my fault! And I can’t... The only way I can honour him is to stop making weapons. I don’t care about the company. I just care... _Fuck_ , Obie! I just care about this not happening again!” He was getting hysterical again.

Obie shook his head. “Let’s take a couple of days to think on it. You just relax. Go to James’ funeral on Monday. Over the weekend, I’ll look into our possibilities and see what avenues are available to us. Will that work?”

Tony sighed in relief and nodded. “Yeah. That’s... There are other things that we can corner the market on. Green energy. Cell phones. I’m workin—”

“Okay, Tony. Why don’t you take the rest of the day and go home. Get some sleep. Relax.”

He nodded and headed up to his office to collect a few things to go home and work. He wouldn’t sleep. The only thing, he knew, that would wait for him was blood-covered corpses of his best friend and closest associates.

 

Monday, Tony stood silent and rock-still at Rhodey’s funeral, watching woodenly while the flag was folded and handed to Rhodey’s mom. The casket was lowered into the ground. The dirt was dropped. The final prayers were said. Rhodey’s mom, Jennifer, stood as still, as silent as Tony, clutching the flag to her chest and staring, dry-eyed as her son was put into the ground.

People began to disperse until finally it was only he and Mrs. Rhodes left by the hole. Symbolically appropriate, he thought. A hole in both their lives, he thought.

He cleared his throat.

“Save it, Stark,” she said, voice gravelly and thick. From holding back sobs. He knew what that sounded like.

“I...” he began at barely a whisper. He tried again. “I’m sorry.”

“I said save it!” she barked.

He took a shaky breath of air. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”

Her eyes finally focused on him. “Fix it? Honey. What can you do? You’re just a little boy playing businessman. You can’t do nothin’. There ain’t no way to fix this.”

“Mrs. Rhodes,” he pleaded. Because he needed her to understand. He needed her to forgive him. Since Rhodey couldn’t.

“I know what happened,” she said sharply. “And there ain’t nothin’ you can do to make it better. So please don’t insult me by saying you’ll try. Good day, Mr. Stark.”

Tony watched her turn on her heel and stride off, flag still clutched tight in her hands. “I...! I’m going to stop weapons production!” he called after her.

Her foot paused a second. But that was the only time she gave him before continuing down towards the rows of black cars. The limo that Tony had provided for her. Because he owed her.

Owed her. This wasn’t a debt. There wasn’t anything that Tony could hope to repay here. This was... This was life. And death. And he’d caused Rhodey’s. How many others had he caused. The world spun.

“Easy, Sir.”

Happy’s voice. He let himself be lead back to the car and driven to his house where he promptly loses himself in good scotch. Then bad scotch. Then the toilet. And finally in nightmares he’s too tired to wake from.

 


	2. Now We're Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally have a picture in my head for Steve's apartment. And I finally got around to posting it! So sorry for the delay, but hope this clears up some of the spacial imaginings! :)
> 
>  

 He picked Clint and Peter up. Signed the papers that signified him as guardian. Since he was their only living relative. They stared at him. Clint with a surly expression of disdain only teenagers could possess. Peter stared up at him with a sort of wounded hope that punched the heart right out of Steve. “Uh. Hey. Guys. I'm Steve. We've...met before.”

“We know,” Clint said, folding his arms across his chest.

He nodded. “Right. Uh...”

“We're gonna live with you?” Peter said, backpack clutched to his chest.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. My place isn't very big.” He shifted his weight, the inconsistent ache in his leg flaring up suddenly. “I know I haven't been around much.”

“We're only half-related,” Peter clarified.

Steve nodded and picked up a duffel, slinging it over his shoulder. He swallowed, but forced the smile to his face. “Well. Let's go home!”

Clint rolled his eyes and grabbed his wheeling suitcase. “Which is your car.”

“Uh, the blue Toyota. Second aisle, fifth back.” He tousled Peter's light brown hair, and picked up the last duffel back. Pulling his keys out, he unlocked the trunk when they got to his car and stuffed the bags inside. He got in the car and flicked the switch to unlock the side doors, both boys getting in. He waited a minute for his breathing to settle, focusing on long slow breaths before starting the car up and driving home to his apartment.

Part of him would be glad for the company, despite the small space. Peter and Clint were going to have to share a room. Not something they'd be used to, he imagined. When his father remarried, they were rather well-off, leaving him and his mother a whole lot of nothing. He didn't begrudge him for it. And didn't begrudge the kids for them dying. It was hardly their fault. It wasn't even his father's and new wife's fault. Drunk driver. It was terrible. And the kids were going to be bitter and lonely, displaced in the world. And Steve could hardly fault them for that either.

His chest tightened. Too much death in the world as it was. He bit his lip as he slowed at a red light. His father and his new wife. His mother had died five years ago. He was eighteen. Perfect to go into the army. Right out of high school, not headed to college because he didn't have enough money. Oh, the army will take care of that. He'd done well for himself. Worked his way up to an officer in the Special Forces. Before... Well. Before the Incident.

Steve's left leg throbbed. Before the incident that got him sent home, honourably, with honours, and got Bucky killed.

He forced another deep breath as his throat threatened to close off.

“Dude. Light's green,” Clint drawled.

His foot jerked on the gas. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“This is going to go real well,” Clint said glibly under his breath. “Ow.”

Steve looked up to meet Peter's eyes in the rear-view and gave him a half smile. Peter's lips twitched in response. The rest of the drive was silent until he pulled into the parking garage. “'Kay. We're here. Grab your stuff, guys.” He got out and helped them pull their stuff out of the trunk, taking up the two heavy duffels again. “No elevator. We'll have to walk. It's only the fourth floor.” He lead them over to the stairwell and held the door open for them to walk through. Steve eased himself up the stairs, his leg burning by the time they got to Four. “Take a left, right at the corner, and I'm—we're—417.”

Clint grumbled about how the place was a dump, Peter's eyes wide as he followed his big brother. When the door to his place was unlocked, Clint's muttered commentary continued about Steve's apartment.

“Your room is back here, guys. I only have the two, so you'll have to share for now. I'll see about finding someplace bigger, but right now there's not a lot of space.” He pushed open the door to the guest room. He'd sold the queen and replaced it with two twins he'd picked up from Salvation Army. Dropping their bags gently, Steve hesitated in the doorway while the two of them turned around a little. “We can paint the room, if you want. Or you guys can put up posters. To... make it more homey.”

Peter nodded. Clint looked surly and tossed his backpack on the bed tucked against the wall.

“You guys need anything?”

“We're fine,” Clint said immediately.

Steve nodded. “I'm down the hall if you need anything. You hungry at all?”

“We're fine.”

Steve nodded again. “Okay. That's... That's fine. Door open? Or shut?”

“We'll figure it out,” Clint said, back still to Steve.

He sighed and left it half-cracked before limping back to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He collapsed on the sofa, not quite ready for bed—night time was never quite safe. Picking up his laptop, he gave his email a quick check and then logged off, picking up his book. The rustling sounds of the kids in the other room make him unable to focus on the latest adventure of Harry Potter and his pals. So he tucked in his bookmark, laced his hands behind his head and just listened.

He used to do the same thing when he was small. He would listen to his mom and dad have mumbled conversations that he could hear through the door of his room. He would listen until they would become arguments which escalated into shouting matches, which lead to hushed pleas of his mother to his father, asking him to be quiet, Stevie's sleeping. Be quieter, please, for Stevie's sake. His mother never asked much for herself.

The kids rustled around, opening drawers, the closet doors—they squeaked, mumbling back and forth to one another, Clint's surly tones easily becoming distinguishable from Peter's soft replies.

They were 14 and 11. Clint was short. Hefty for a 14 year-old. Scruffy blonde hair and no sign of facial hair, piercing blue eyes that lay beneath heavy brows. He looked the most like Steve. They could have been mistaken for full brothers instead of half. His face usually, as near as Steve could tell, wore an expression that broad-casted, 'I've dealt with tougher shit than you.' He was whip-smart, though his grades didn't show it. He preferred sports and physical activity to learning Biology, Math, and English. Though he did like reading on his own. Peter was almost opposite. A little tall for his age, he had kind of a willowy, thin build. He was also very smart, and his grades showed it. Peter seemed to look at the world with wide brown eyes so as to better take it in. Peter liked reading too. Steve would have to take them to the library and get them cards.

He shuddered at all the thoughts of things he'd have to do. The boys would have to be enrolled at a new school. They'd need doctors appointments, dentists, food, clothes, bus passes, train passes, bikes, haircuts, lunches, sports fees, uniforms, laundry, shoes, school supplies, shampoo, razors, extra toilet paper, bed sheets, jacketscurfewskeyscar-rides—

Steve swung his feet off the couch and threw his head between his knees, hands coming up to grip the sides of his neck to steady himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. How was he going to afford all of this?

The military was already taking care of his education (to be an art teacher—couldn't very well go his planned route of a cop with a busted leg, could he?), which he was hardly going to have time for at this rate. He and Bucky had talked about the possibility of adopting. Once upon a time. Before it became another thing to argue about. Before he...got killed. But that was after they'd both done their time in the military, gone back to school, and gotten jobs. When their lives were steady. When they had money they could rely on. Steve worked part time at a book store. And now he had to take care of two kids who just lost their parents and now saw him as the enemy. Or at least... Clint seemed to.

He took ten slow deep breaths. Counted them. Straightened. Massaged his leg. If the stress kept up, he might have to go back to the cane.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

The first month went alright. It was a settling period (which will probably last more like a year, if Steve's honest). Weekdays he got up at 5 to get the boys' lunches ready and clothes set out (starter wardrobe from Salvation Army), got himself dressed for either work or school (depending on the day), and then got the boys up at 5:45 for a bus at 6:45 to get them to school when it started at 7:50. School ended at 2:45. Steve tried to be home for them every day. But Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he had classes and worked in the evenings. Tuesday and Thursday he worked while the boys were at school. Saturday and Sunday he worked during the day, home in the evenings to help the boys with their homework if they needed it. On weekends, they were left to take care of themselves on Sundays, but Sam, his new best friend volunteered to spend some time with them.

He'd run into Sam Wilson at one of the cafés on the school campus and they'd hit it off. It started with meeting for coffee and chatting to asking Sam to join him for impromptu games of frisbee, soccer, or pick-up football on the weekends on the campus quad. Before long, that turned into Beer Night where they'd trade off hosting and have a quiet night in, talking about life. Sam spoke a lot about Becky Hartwell, the woman he liked and subsequently started dating. Steve did a lot of listening. He talked about some of his buddies back in his unit. Talked about his mother.

Anyway.

The boys started to get settled in, sharing the small room. Clint complained the first week about not having a TV. Steve bore it for a week before he snapped and said that it rotted your brain, and took them to the library and came home with a stack of books. Clint sniped a little less. The library was close enough that they could walk if they didn't want to wait for a bus. They did all their research for school projects there, and had plenty of access to the internet if they wanted it.

Steve would lend them his laptop in a pinch, but it was one of the only nice things he had, and he wanted to keep it that way. He used it for his artwork and networking and portfolio building anyway. And he didn't want that to get corrupted.

Almost two and a half months in, Clint came home with a black eye and bloodied nose.

He sighed to himself mentally, wondering when it would have started. New kids, new school... It was bound to happen.

“It wasn't my fault!” Clint blustered, immediately on the defensive.

Steve motioned him into the kitchen and pulled a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. “It's probably too late, but put this on it.”

Clint squinted at him but plopped himself into a chair. He hissed as the frozen peas touched his eye. Peter hovered in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“What happened.”

“I didn't start it.”

“I didn't ask who started it,” he said patiently. “I asked what happened.”

Clint looked at Peter and then back at Steve, frowning fiercely. “I got punched.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“You're not going to yell at me?” Clint eyed him, still suspicious.

“Did you used to get in fights? Before?”

Hesitating a moment, the kid finally nodded.

Steve almost grinned. “Dad yell at you?”

Clint nodded again.

“Well, I'm not going to yell at you. He was my dad too, remember?” Steve spun a chair so he was sitting on it backwards. “Come sit if you want, Pete. I used to get in fights too.”

“You?” Clint scoffed.

“Yeah. All the time. And I was small. Like Peter.”

“And Dad would yell at you too?”

Steve nodded, leaning his folded arms on the chair back. “Yeah. It was always for a good cause, but he yelled at me anyway. Told me I was an idiot.”

Clint's lips quirked up.

“I used to stand up to bullies when I was half their height, and half their width. Came home with all sorts of bang-ups and bruises and bloody noses. I got really good at dodging.”

Both boys were smiling now. Clint sighed. “Kids were picking on Peter. I shut 'em up.”

Steve nodded. “I'm glad you protect your brother, Clint. That's good.”

“But...?”

He smiled. “But, try to keep it non-physical. Don't let yourself get into fights. Because then it looks bad on you, I get called, I have to discipline you—”

“With what? It's not like you can take away the TV,” Clint drawled.

“Trust me. I can find ways.”

The kid was back to scowling.

“Just don't make our lives harder, yeah?”

“Lecture done?”

“Lecture done. You guys want a snack?”

Clint shook his head and slunk off to their room. Peter nodded, and Steve set about making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Peter got started on his social studies homework.


	3. End of the Line

 Tony couldn't give up. He called Obie, twice while still drunk, once whilst sober, listing ideas and plans for ways to supplement Stark Industries income. Some of the ones he could remember while being drunk were okay. Some were brilliant. But then, he did specialise in that. In his adventures of drunkenness, he remembered Pepper stopping by with consolations, the words rather quickly dying on her lips when she saw his state—tuxedo jacket on the floor, wrinkled, shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, tie half-undone and inches from strangling him, slacks stained with liquor. One shoe off and upside-down by his father's desk, the other dangled from his toes while he lay draped between the arms of the plush, big-backed chair in front of the fire place. It's October and he didn't quite need a fire yet, but he'd wanted to stare at something destructive, and that was the safest option.

Pepper sighed and set about tidying Tony's father's office. And Tony.

“I want to stop weapons production,” he blurted.

“I know, Tony,” Pepper said.

“I don't think Obie's going to let me,” he said with drunken clarity.

Pepper made a face. “Tony, it's your company.”

“Yeah, but I can't run it into the ground, Pepper. Then all those people'll have no jobs. And I can't be responsible for that too...” he whined.

Pepper's glare softened. “Tony. It's your company. You run it. You make the decisions.”

“Only if they're passed by the board,” he mumbled into a depressingly empty bottle.

“Well, then convince them. You're stunning at convincing when you try.”

“I try a lot.”

“Tony,” Pepper said like she knew the exact opposite. Maybe she did. “You try for R&D. You don't necessarily try for the board.”

“I try...” he insisted weakly. Then let the bottle fall to the floor.

“Really?” She glared at the offending item. Then him. “I just cleaned that.”

The conversation degenerated somewhere around that point and everything eventually lead to a deadly hangover the next morning.

He threw up nothing in the toilet before staggering back to his bed, downing the Tylenol and water on his bedside table. Mental note: thank Pepper. Mental note: apologise to Pepper.

Tony made it to work by three, still hung-over, shades covering his blood-shot eyes. He threw grins at everyone and they bought it. They always bought it. Except for Obie. Who tsked when he walked into his office and collapsed into the chair in front of his desk.

“Tony...” he said, faintly disapproving.

“What ideas did I throw at you. I don't remember them all,” he said flatly.

“I don't... Tony. You didn't have to come in today.” Setting aside his papers, Obie focused his full attention on Tony. “Why don't you take the rest of the day. Take tomorrow too. He was your friend.”

“Yeah. And that's why we've got to shut down weapons production.”

Obie's face tightened briefly. “You're not going to give up?”

“No! This is... this is important to me.”

His mentor gave him a small sad smile. “Yeah...”

“First thing that really matters, Obie. The rest of it? The rest of it is junk. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. This...” Tony pressed fingers to his throbbing temple. “This is what I need to change. What's that saying? 'Be the change you want to see in the world' or some crap like that? Well I want to change this.”

“Go home, Tony,” Obie said, extending a hand across the desk towards Tony's. “I'll look into it, okay? Go home.”

Tony stared at Obie a minute before giving a curt nod and staggering out of the office. Pepper caught him on the way out.

“To—Mr. Stark!”

He turned. Mental note... Mental note... “Thank you, and I'm sorry.”

Pepper pulled up short and arched a brow at him. “What?”

“I'm sorry, and thank you,” Tony said again. “I don't remember exactly for what, but I made the mental note, and I wanted to... I think I was drunk.”

Expression turning wry, Pepper stared at him. “You were _very_ drunk.”

“Yes. Sorry. For that. Oh! And thanks for the Tylenol. Helpful.”

“I'm surprised you're on your feet at all.”

Tony shrugged. “I have a high tolerance.”

“Mm. Where are you going?”

“I was going to stop by R&D and then head home.”

“Okay. I wanted to remind you—and I'll remind you again later this week—but Thursday is the Howard Stark Memorial Gala.”

He flinched.

“I know. I'm sorry. But you have to go,” she said gently. “And you can't be late.”

Tony suppressed the shudder, though it was a near thing. “Right. Remind me night of. Actually, remind me morning of. That way I can—”

“And you can't show up drunk, Tony,” Pepper pleaded.

He ground his teeth, but forced a smile. “You know me. Expect the unexpected.”

“People are expecting drunkenness,” she said with a small smile.

Tony shook his head. “Remind me when it's closer.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Pepper did remind him when it was closer. She called him the morning of, reminded him of the event, and reminded him not to get drunk. Pepper called him at lunch time while he was drowning himself in work at the office and reminded him not to be late. 8:30 sharp.

Pepper called him at 6:45 when he was at home, just about to step into the shower to remind him again, not to be late. Pepper even called Happy at 7:00, just to be sure he was at Tony's house and ready to pick Tony up with enough time to get to the venue and not be late.

So Tony was at the hotel ballroom with thirteen minutes to spare. He looked around desperately for two of them, was relieved to have Happy at his back for six more until Pepper arrived. Until Pepper arrived in a stunning navy satin dress. Pepper distracted him (mentally and physically) until people arrived and he had to paste a smile on his face.

The Fifth Annual Howard Stark Memorial Gala had begun.

And Tony didn't want anything more than an escape. Or revenge.

Howard had said once that Tony was his best creation ever. So what better way to spit on the thing that a person was most proud of than to destroy it, even for just a little, for a night. So Tony side-stepped Pepper and got himself fantastically drunk. Obie gave him sad glances all night long from across the room. And Pepper rolled her eyes but eventually gave up and let him be. So he staggered around between guests like a pinball and listened to their praise for his father and their fake sorrow for him that he was gone. The only person he could remotely stand was the Swedish guy or wherever he was from. He was huge and blonde and cracked jokes that made Tony laugh. Apparently, they were in 'talks' about a future business venture together.

“Tony,” Pepper said later that evening. “I think you should stop.”

He shook his head, drink balanced perfectly in his hand. “I'm fine, Pep. You should know that by now.”

“I don't think we have the same definition of 'fine,' Tony.”

He glared at her and wandered off.

“Tony,” Obie said, snaking an arm around his shoulders.

“Not now.”

“Come meet someone!”

“You want me to meet them while I'm trashed?”

Obie just grinned. “You're fine.”

He snorted. “That's what I told Pepper.” Guiding him across the room, Tony stiffened when he saw Hammer standing next to the Swede's brother. “What is he doing here?”

“Who? Hammer?”

“Yes,” Tony snarled. “What. Is he. Doing here.”

“Tony,” Obie placated. “He's just another businessman paying his respects to your father.”

“Bullshit.” He twisted out from beneath Obadiah's arm and stepped away, swaying slightly. “Get him out.”

“Tony...”

“Get him out or I'm leaving. He does _not_ belong here. He's a lying snake and steals tech.”

“That's not wha—”

“You heard me.”

“I can't just ask him to leave.”

“No?” Tony glared at him. “Well then I can just leave.”

“Tony...”

But he had already turned away from his mentor and was weaving through the throngs of people, out of a room that was too suffocating, into the open, airy lobby of the hotel. Stalking towards the doors, he loitered around the entry for a few minutes before taking off down the street. Loosening his tie, Tony meandered through the streets of New York, still busy, it was only about 11 P.M.

It wasn't until the people on the streets thinned out and he was essentially alone for five blocks that he realised there were people following him.

“I don't have any money,” he called out, swaying on his feet. Maybe that made him a more easy target. The figures disappeared. He continued on, not really knowing where he was going. Or where he wanted to go. But he eventually stopped, leaning against the stone rail of a bridge. He couldn't see the stars in New York. But he could see the lights reflected in the river, and as he looked down, they looked enough like stars in his drunken state that it didn't matter.

Tony straightened at the sound of footsteps behind him. “Are you back? You boys stalking me earlier?” he slurred. They didn't reply. “Seriously. This is looking like a bad B movie.” He snickered. “Well, gonna mug me? I don't have anything on me.” He squinted into the half-light that the street lamp provided. “Wait a minute... Do I know you?”

They sprinted at him. Tony yelped as one grabbed his wrist when he tried to zag out of the way. “Woah, woah! Hold on a sec, guys; that really wasn't an invitation!” The air whooshed out of his lungs as he was pushed up against the stone rail, arms jerked up behind his back. “Ow— _ow_ ! That hur—ow  _stop_ !”

Stars suddenly exploded across the New York night sky and everything turned right side up as the world flipped.

Wind rushed by.

Tony was flying.

He'd always wanted to fly.

Until he smacked the water.

Then he was drowning.

Half-conscious, he sucked in air and water. Figures faintly bobbed up on the bridge. He sank under the water. Which carried him downstream. His limbs wouldn't obey. Couldn't? Thoughts raced, half-formed through his head while the water tumbled him over and over. He floated in and out of consciousness every time he sank under. Managing to get his arms and legs under control for a few minutes, he somehow managed to get himself to the riverbank, clawing himself up the side so he wasn't drowning, wasn't in danger of sliding back in. The pain came lancing back through him as he moved one last haul upwards and then passed out.


	4. What the Cat Dragged In

 Steve arrived home from work, just in time to meet the boys coming in from the sports and activities bus that usually brought them home late around 7. “Hey guys.”

Clint stalked passed him, shoving his key into the door and kicking it open.

“Clint.”

He ignored him, stomping towards his room and slamming the door.”

“Your shoes are muddy, Clint!” Steve called after him. It normally wouldn't be a big deal, except that Steve _just_ cleaned the floors yesterday, for the first time in almost a month, and he wanted them to stay clean as long as they could...

Peter took his shoes off at the door and hung his coat.

“Clint!” He leaned towards the shut door. “Would you come and clean your mess please?”

Peter went behind him into the kitchen, rustling noises suggesting that he was unpacking his backpack.

Steve turned and leaned into the kitchen. “What happened?”

Peter shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Peter...” he sighed. “I know you love your brother, but if something happened, I need to know.”

“I don't know!”

“Fine...” He went down the hall and stopped in front of the boys' room. “Clint. Would you open the door please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You're just gonna yell at me. Why should I?”

“Because I can just as easily yell at you through the door too, and I'd rather the neighbours not hear.”

“I don't care! They're just going to think that you're being abusive!”

Steve reeled back. “I am  _not_ abusive, Clint Rogers.”

“Oooh, pulling out the full name!” the kid taunted.

“No, the full name would be Clint Barton Rogers. Now get up and open this door please so we can talk.”

“I don't want to talk to you. All we ever do is talk. And frankly, you're not so good at it.”

Steve's shoulders tightened. “Listen,” he said through grit teeth. “If there's something going on at school—”

“It's none of your business!”

He flinched back and took a deep breath. “Clint, I'm trying to help here—”

“Well I don't need your help! Now why don't you take your stupid limp and go away!”

Steve punched the door.

“Woah! Woah!” Peter rushed out of the kitchen and grabbed Steve's arm.

Steve yanked back and Peter flew forwards into him, bumping off and falling back onto the floor. He stared up at Steve with wider eyes than usual.

“Oh God. Pete. Peter, I'm so sorry. I didn't...” He knelt quickly, Peter scrabbling back. Back. Away. The world made a rushing sound as he swayed where he was crouched. “I'm sorry...” he whispered brokenly.

Then everything was too close. The walls, the people, the world, everything. “I'll be....back,” he choked out and got up, sprinting through the kitchen to snag his phone and keys before running down the four flights of stairs and jogging down the street until he was away from everyone and everything.

He called Sam. “Hey.”

“Steve! What's up, my friend.”

“I need you to go to my place. I...”

“Woah, dude, what's the matter?”

“I just left the boys there. I...got into an argument with Clint,” he blurted, “and then punched a door, and Peter tried to stop me, and I accidentally knocked him down—he's fine, but I think I... I don't know. Just go... I need to get out. For a few. I'll... I'll be back later. Can you...?”

“Okay. Wow. Yeah. Sure. Just... Take your time, Steve. I'm heading over there now. Take your time.”

“Thanks,” he croaked and then hung up. Limping down the street, he crossed one street over until he was next to the river.

Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his head down as he trudged along the bank. He lost himself in the sounds of New York City, thoughts of his childhood, thoughts of the war, thoughts of how to apologise to Peter, thoughts of how to connect with Clint, thoughts of Bucky— _God_ . 

Steve sank heavily to the bank and sat a while, head on the knee of his good leg, bad one stretched out before him while his left hand kneaded the muscle and thick scar tissue. He choked back sobs, focusing on steady breaths, trying not to let the panic overwhelm him.

It didn't work so well today. He sobbed into his sleeve until he was exhausted and it had been dark out for some time. Wiping his face with the hem of his t-shirt, he pulled out his phone. 11:58. Great. And he had to get up early the next day. Again. But at least it would be Friday, and then the weekend. Time to get the shopping done, clean the bathroom, vacuum, and maybe get some reading done.

He stood and stretched, rolling out his neck. Doing a double-take, Steve frowned and squinted across the river. There was a guy, inching up the river bank. “Hey!” he shouted. The form didn't move. Steve swore and looked around for the nearest bridge. It was a ways east of where they were. “Um, Sir! Excuse me! Can you hear me!” He cupped his hands around his mouth to help the sound carry across the water. The figure didn't move. Steve swore. His leg wasn't up to running again. But... He growled and set off at a painful jog to the bridge, across the bridge and then down back the other side towards the not-moving figure on the grass. His fingers went to his throat and he calmed some, feeling there was a pulse. But not much.

“Hey. Hey guy, can you hear me?” he said gently, jostling the guy's shoulder.

He groaned.

Progress. Steve leaned in to find a wallet or something, reeling back at the scent of alcohol. Great. Some drunk jumper. He pulled back and rolled the guy over. He was young. Maybe around Steve's age. “Sir? Can you hear me? I think you fell over the bridge. I'm going to get you to a hospital.”

The guy's breathing went erratic and a hand flew up to grab his wrist. “...nnng...ho...pit'l....nnnoo....” he panted, eyelids fluttering.

“Uh...” Steve stared at the hand, cold, too cold, on his. “I think you're in shock.”

“Nnooo....'spit'l....”

“No hospital?” Steve frowned as he got the guy into a sitting position. Shit. Now what?

The guy slumped against him, cold and damp.

Steve sighed. Just what he needed. He swooped the guy up over his shoulder on his good side and started the trek back to his apartment. Once he was on the other side of the bridge, he called Sam.

“Hey, Steve. Been gone a while. You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “I'm fine, Sam. Thank you so much for going over there. Listen, are the boys in bed yet?”

“Not yet.”

“I'll be back in a little while. Could you possibly have them in bed by the time I get home. It's past bed-time anyway.”

Sam chuckled. “Sure thing.”

“And then you can head home. I probably interrupted a night with Jennifer anyway.”

“Nah, it's cool. Jenny's fine with it. She knows you've got it rough.”

“You're great,” Steve said around the lump in his throat. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“No you don't. You're my best friend, Steve. We're cool.”

“Thanks. Have a good night,” he said quietly. He reshifted the guy on his shoulder and then trudged back home.

When he finally got to the door of his apartment, it was close to 1:00. The lights were all off save for the kitchen, so he went straight into his room. Flicking on the light, he grabbed the extra blanket and wrapped it around the guy clumsily as he set him down on his bed. In the light he was pale. Unhealthy pale. But obviously well-dressed. No identification. 'No hospital,' the guy had slurred. Steve gave a dry chuckle. It was like a spy movie. Attractive man, manicured facial hair, dressed in a tux, smelled like liquor, no ID on him. Steve stiffened. It  _could_ be a spy plot. He shook his head. That was ridiculous. Guy was drunk, stumbled over the guard rail and fell into the river. Now he was in shock, too cold, but he'd be fine in the morning. 

That was, he thought, until he noticed the trickle of red liquid next to his ear.

“Oh shit.”

He ran to the bathroom for iodine and bandages. When he had rolled the guy over, he pushed the guy's hair around to find the wound. He'd obviously had a knock to the head. Steve cleaned the area and pressed a folded pad of gauze to it before wrapping one around his head to keep it in place. It was sluggish bleeding, meaning that it had already started to clot. Which was a good sign. He reached over and grabbed a penlight from his bedside table drawer and pulled the guy's lids up. His pupils dilated. But not much. Might be a concussion.

Biting his lip, Steve wavered between taking the guy to the hospital anyway or leaving him here. He decided to leave him until morning. He'd skip classes tomorrow (his first time, it wasn't a big deal), and see what the guy could tell him.

Padding into the other room, he settled on the couch for a few minutes before sighing and taking a kitchen chair with him back into his bedroom. He leaned over onto the free space of his bed and settled his head on his arms to sleep. And be there, just in case the mystery guy woke and needed something.

Steve woke when his alarm went off, stumbling around the kitchen to make lunches and get the boys' things read for school. The man on his bed hadn't moved when he'd reached over to slap his alarm off after the first ring.

Clint was sullen but obedient, getting up with his alarm. He slumped into the bathroom and did his business, Peter shuffling into the kitchen for breakfast while he waited his turn for the bathroom. Clint gave him only a glance as they headed out the door, Peter a small smile and a wave. He sighed and said he'd see them after school.

Steve made his way back down the hall, stopping in the hallway to watch the man on his bed. Padding back to the kitchen, he grabbed a glass of water, pit-stopped in the bathroom for some Advil. He set both down on the bedside table and reached out to jostle the guy gently. Staying far enough away so he wouldn't get punched. You know. Just in case the guy was a spy. He needn't have worried because the guy just made a half-hearted groan that resonated in Steve's heart. Eyelids fluttering the guy stirred.

“Hey,” he breathed gently. “You're safe. You're okay. I'm Steve. Can you hear me?”

The guy groaned again and shifted, twisting in the blanket.

Steve eased over and unwrapped him. When the guy's eyes fluttered open at him, Steve smiled. “Hey. There you are. How are you? Can you hear me?”

“I...go home wif'you...?”

Slurring. Not a great sign.

“I don'member goin' home wi' you...”

Oh God. Did he pick up a...a male hooker...? “Uh...” Steve was saved from any attempt at further conversation because the guy promptly passed out again. Steve retucked the blanket around him and then vanished into his apartment to do some therapeutic cleaning.

 

 


	5. Who You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with beautiful art!  
> [Artist's explanation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/408099)

 Steve was in the middle of making himself lunch when Mr. Nameless awoke with a shout. Steve was on the floor beneath the table, butter knife in hand before he was done shouting. “Geeze,” he muttered as he scrambled to his feet and ran down the hall to his room. “Hey! Hey, you're safe. You're okay.”

The guy looked up at him with wild—okay, really blue—eyes.

Steve held up his (empty) hands as he approached and sat on the edge of the bed. “I'm Steve. Do you remember?”

The guy just stared at him.

“What's your name?” he asked gently.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Fuck.”

Steve blinked. Not really the voice he was expecting. Smooth, save for the vulgarity, warm.

“No. Shit. No, I don't remember!” His eyes went wide. “I don't remember my name!”

“Okay. Okay, it's fine.” As if this situation could get any more cliché. He had no reason to disbelieve his story. The guy was either a genius actor, or genuinely freaked out.

The guy stared, horrified, at Steve.

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“Um... A really nice ass? And a headache.”

Steve tried not to blush. He'd just rescued a hooker.

“Cold.” The guy frowned. “Water. Drowning. Lots of people. Needed air...” He shook his head. “It all goes blurry when I try to focus on it. I can't... I don't remember.” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“Are...are you okay otherwise?”

“Except for a banging headache, yeah,” he replied wearily.

“Yeah, that'll be the concussion. I think you hit your head. You fell off a bridge, as near as I can tell. Into the river.”

“Well that was a stupid thing to do—no, don't look at me like that, cheesecake. Pretty sure I didn't do a swan-dive to the other side.”

Steve nodded. “Well. You can stay here. For a little while. Until you remember.”

He nodded, looking around, eyes taking everything in

“What should I call you?”

The guy shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Matthew?”

“No.”

“Daniel?”

He wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“John? Luke, Chris, Tom, Tim, James, Mark?” Steve asked, running through more popular names.

He tilted his head. “That last one. Mark. Mark is good.”

“See. You are particular.” He smiled. “Good. Mark it is.”

“Sure.”

Standing, Steve smiled. “How about you take a shower. I'll find you something to wear. Then are you hungry?”

Mark opened his mouth and then shut it. “Uh. Yeah. Actually. If you've got a sandwich or something. That's fine.”

Steve nodded. “Um. Shower's through there, second door on the right, and I'll bring you a towel.”

Nodding, Mark pushed the covers off and swung his feet over the edge. He wobbled a bit as he stood, but didn't fall.

“Be careful in the shower. If you feel at all dizzy, just sit down, okay. Give a shout and I'll help you.”

“Don't want to be cleaning up blood on your floor?” Mark joked, but his face was pale.

“I'd rather not.”

Mark threw him a searching look and then shrugged, stripping off his jacket and shirt.

Steve gave him a quick smile and then left his room at a quick limp. When the shower was on, he sat down in the kitchen, heaving a big sigh and trying to forget the lines of Mark's chest. That was hardly appropriate, was it. The guy couldn't even remember who he was.

The pipes rattled while the water ran. Steve dropped a clean towel on the sink in the bathroom and then found an old pair of clean sweats and a t-shirt. Then he finished his sandwich, crafting another for Mark. With two glasses of milk on the table, he sat, chin in hand, staring at the wall. He couldn't hope to support four people, including himself, on his wages. He sighed.

“Heavy thoughts?” Mark said, startling him as he dropped into a chair.

“What? Sorry. I...”

“Military guy, right?”

Steve jerked. “How did you know?”

“I...” He shook his head. “I don't know. I think I knew someone. He... A friend, I think. He always folded his shirts the same way. And the way you stand.”

“Huh...”

Mark smiled, a sad thing. “Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.”

“No, it's fine,” he said slowly. “What else do you remember?”

Shrugging, Mark took a big bite of the sandwich. “Dunno. I guess we'll figure it out as I go along.”

Steve nodded and sighed again. “Right.” He watched Mark finish his sandwich. “You want the rest of mine?”

“You not hungry?” Mark looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I'm okay. You look hungry still. Want more?”

Mark arched a brow but extended a hand towards Steve's plate. “If you don't want it..”

Steve waved a hand at it and then stood, taking Mark's empty plate. “Do you know how old you are?”

“Nope,” he said around a mouthful of sandwich. “You make a good sandwich.”

“Uh. Thanks.” He smiled.

Mark smiled back, the expression lighting up his face.

“How are you feeling?”

Mark shrugged. “I'm okay.”

“Just take it easy.” Steve shrugged and finished up the dishes. “Listen, I've got two boys that I take care of. I just...”

Mark blinked.

“So, if it gets a little noisy, I'm sorry—” Steve blinked as he was cut off by Mark's laughter.

“Dude. No need to be so formal. I'm encroaching on your space—yeah thanks for that, by the way—so you don't have to apologise to me.” He leaned his chair back on two legs. “I'll just stay out of your way.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Mark waved him away. “Go ahead. Do whatever you need to do. I'll...entertain myself.”

“I don't have a TV. Sorry. But I've plenty of books, if you're interested.” Wiping his hands dry, he put the plates back in the cabinet and then went to the sitting room to work on his homework. Tomorrow was Saturday. Work and laundry. He flicked on his computer.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Hours later, Steve dropped his head onto the back of the couch and sighed.

“I'm impressed.”

He swore and jumped before flushing brightly. “I'm sorry—oh my gosh, I'm so sorry.” He looked at Mark, pressing a hand over his galloping heart.

“Didn't mean to startle you.” Mark grinned, slung between the arms of the big chair. His hands were covered in something.

“What... What did you do?” He pointed at them.

“What? Oh. I fixed your toaster.”

“My toaster.”

“Yeah. It wasn't toasting evenly. And...really wasn't working properly at all.”

“I was going to throw it out...”

“Well, it works now,” Mark said with an elegant shrug.

“So you know mechanics?”

“Seems so.”

“You just...remember.”

“I just remember.” He grinned again, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.

“Cool. It makes toast now?”

“Go make yourself a slice. Your stomach growled.”

He shook his head and looked at his watch. “The boys'll be home soon.”

“'Kay.”

“Clint is the older one, the blonde. He likes to push his limits. The younger is Peter. He's usually good.”

“They yours?”

“What? No. No, they're not mine. They're actually my half-brothers.”

“Oh!” Mark shifted, putting his feet on the floor.

“Yeah. Their parents recently died... So I'm taking care of them.”

“Just you?”

He nodded. His thoughts drifted to the envelope on the counter that detailed all the money Steve _wouldn't_ be getting to help him pay for things for the boys. Most of the money was going towards school for the boys, a lot of it set aside for college funds. At least Steve wouldn't have to worry about it. But it meant that he got very little to help out with raising the boys. 

“That's big of you.”

Steve shrugged. Mark's deprecating smile was back. “I had to. Otherwise they'd go into the system. And I had a friend. In the system. Wasn't that great.” His heart clenched at the thought of Bucky.

“Right! Well this is getting uncomfortable. I'll steer clear of them, if that's what you're asking.”

“What? No! No, that's not.. I was just telling you. That. They'll be around. So...be aware?”

“Wow. You don't get out much.” Mark blinked. “I guess I'm rude. Sorry.”

But he didn't seem very sorry. And to be honest, it was a bit refreshing. “Who are you?” he blurted.

The guy laughed. “We covered that, right? You don't seem like an idiot.”

Steve laughed. And it felt good. “Sorry. I just...”

“Hey. Whatever. No need to make excuses. Your shower pipes are horrible, by the way.”

“I know. They make all sorts of noise.”

“Yeah. And your microwave is shit. The heater unit could use some help, and frankly, your laptop looks like it's seen better days.”

“Are you volunteering?” Steve joked.

“Sure.”

“What—really!?”

“I seem to know how they work, so yeah. You let me live here until I remember who I am, and I'll fix your stuff.”

“Wow...”

Mark grinned. “No problem, gorgeous.”

He stiffened.

“What? Don't roll that way? No problem.”

Before Steve could answer, the boys were tumbling in the door. They stopped bickering when they saw Mark.

“Who are you?” Clint asked.

“You must be Clint.” Mark gave him a grin that was all teeth.

Clint stiffened and glared at him. “Who are you?” he repeated, folding his arms and puffing his chest up.

Mark laughed. “Wow. Hey, man of the house.”

Clint puffed up more. “Who're you to—”

“You're a cute kid, you know that?” Mark continued, completely ignoring Clint's splutters of rage. “Aw, hissing like a cat, you're so mad. Don't worry 'bout it, kid. I'm sure you'll grow up a great adult. One of these days.”

Steve watched in awe as Clint got so mad he couldn't even speak. Finally, someone who could out-sass his little brother. He would have laughed if he didn't think it would be the final straw to break the camel's back. Clint dumped his backpack on the floor and stomped to his room, slamming the door.

Steve didn't even call out the reminder to not slam the door. When he looked at Mark, the man was grinning at him. “Wow.”

“I figure I was the same type of kid. Am the same type of kid.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Hey, you. Peter, right?”

Peter's brown eyes were wide. “Yes, sir.”

“Woah,” Mark threw his hands up. Peter flinched. “No 'sir'-ing me. I'm just gonna be Mark for now.”

“For now?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. See, I don't remember who I am,” Mark said as if beginning a grand story. “And your cool bro here is letting me stay. So I'm gonna fix shit—sorry, _stuff_ , as my room and board and all that. Which you don't have to worry about, because you're what... Eight?”

“Eleven,” Peter corrected. He worried the ends of his sleeves.

“Wow. Dude. You're small for eleven.”

Peter flushed.

Steve watched on with a sort of awe as the man who didn't know anything about himself seemed to read everyone around him like a pro. While Mark rambled at Peter, who was looking at him in a way that he'd never looked at Steve, all full of awe and wonder, he noticed the door cracking beyond the two, Clint's head peeking out. He gave a small smile and shook his head at the magnetic personality sitting in his living room.


	6. All Around the Mulberry Bush

 Sunday. It was Sunday and Mark was moping about the apartment, flopping himself everywhere complaining of being bored. He'd already commandeered one of Steve's sketchbooks, using up the back pages to sketch things that made no sense to Steve. They were all technical and straight lines and precise corners—like an architect's plans. The only thing he could tell was that they were mechanical.

Mark was good with his hands. And he pointedly didn't think of that double-entendre as he watched the man swivel a screwdriver on Steve's laptop. He'd woken Sunday morning to find Mark hunched over the table in front of the couch, parts strewn everywhere. He'd gaped a few minutes until Mark noticed his presence and proceeded to stammer more than necessary that he would put it back together and it would be better, he promised.

He spent the rest of the day skulking. As near as he could tell. He went to work at 11 and got home at 5.

When he pushed open the door, Clint was laughing. He stopped a minute, hand still on the knob, key halfway to the counter. Because Clint was laughing. It was the first time Steve had heard him laughing for real. Nothing that was mean or spiteful. Just...a child. Laughing.

Breathing was hard.

Then Mark galloped past the open door with Peter on his back wielding some sort of make-shift sword cobbled together out of who-knows-what, and he couldn't help but crack up. Mark came back his way and gave him a wry grin. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hi Steve!” Peter said, face split with an matching grin, hair sticking up.

Steve toed off his shoes and limped into the living room, managing not to groan at what a raging mess it was. “Hey guys. How was your day?”

“Oh my gosh! Mark built—” And then Peter was off on a rant about all the cool things Mark had done. All the funny things Mark had to say. All the genius things he did.

Steve thought he ought to feel jealous, as he massaged his aching leg. Instead, he felt a little relieved. Relieved that there was someone else there to help him out with the kids. To take the pressure off. Sam was busy, and he couldn't always rely on him, great friend that he was. Many hands make for light work and all that. “Did you guys get your homework done?” He asked tiredly.

“Yeah! He's really smart at science!” Peter said.

Mark laughed, easing the kid down to the floor. “You're good at science, Pete; you just need to stop thinking so wildly about it. Save that for your articles!”

“Articles?” Steve echoed.

“I joined the newspaper!” he said.

“Oh. Wow. Well great. Clint?”

“Yeah, everything's done.” He answered, not defensive, though still reserved.

He nodded. “Well cool. We might... I dunno. Maybe we'll go out to eat then tonight. As a treat.”

The boys both crowed excited at that. Mark gave him a look, arching a brow. Steve put on his polite face and shook his head slightly.

“Wow. Okay. Look at the mess in here,” Mark said. “How 'bout you guys clean it up, then we'll see about dinner.”

“You made most of the mess!” Peter protested.

Mark grinned. “Yeah, but you're a better cleaner.” He gave the kid a nudge and he obediently bent to clean stuff up. “Clint?”

Clint rolled his eyes but gave a half-hearted effort at straightening the room. “I do blame you, you know.”

Stretching, Mark ruffled his hair as he padded towards Steve's room. “Whatever, halfling.” He made eyes at Steve and motioned with a hand behind his back for him to follow.

Steve frowned, but got up and muttered something to the boys about going to change. “What's the matter?” he asked when they were in his room.

“You okay to go out to eat?”

“What?”

“I mean, you're stressed, you're tired, your leg is obviously giving you hell,” Mark said, slipping his hands into the pockets of the slacks he'd put back on. Now ruined, because Mark had tried to do laundry for Steve. Obviously not one of the things he was good at.

“No, it's fine. We haven't eaten out since the boys got here. So it'll be a nice treat.”

Mark narrowed his eyes slightly. “Sure.”

“Really. It's fine.”

“You don't have anyone helping you?”

“No. I don't...” Steve sighed and carded his fingers through his hair. “I don't have time. For. Relationships.”

Mark shrugged. “Not my business. I'm just the free-loader.”

“You've really been a big help, actually. The boys like you a lot.”

“They don't know who I am,” he said, sounding off again.

“ _You_ don't know who you are,” Steve countered. “So I don't know why you're convinced you're such a bad person...”

“I don't... I just...” Mark sighed. “Jesus, rather not get into this...”

“Do you remember something?” His heart leapt.

“No. No, I just... Steve. I was dumped off a bridge. Or so we think. Either way—jumper or dumper—I couldn't have been a great guy.”

“Have you  _seen_ yourself with these kids?” Steve asked, gesturing behind him. “They think you're great!”

“Like I said. They don't know me. And for that matter, neither do you. I'm just something new and exciting that's not you. You have to be the authority figure—exhausting, I can tell—and I can play the part of the fun one.”

“You made Clint clean,” he said flatly.

“He's half-assing it. He's not really doing anything.”

“You're making Clint  _look_ like he's putting forth effort. Mark. That's not nothing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Take your kids out to dinner. Have fun.”

Steve paused. “You were included in that.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Eating out is expensive. I know things are tight for you. Don't worry about it. I'll stay here. Finish putting your phone back together.”

“You took apart my phone!” he yelped.

Mark smirked. “Don't worry. Everything else has been better since I fixed it, right? It'll be better than new!”

Steve shook his head. “Come out to dinner with us. It'll be nice.”

Mark shook his head. “Nope. Go. Take your rugrats. I'm tired. I'll nap. Then you can have the bed for the night.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Mark had willingly and insistently ceded the bed to Steve and took the couch. But he was always up when Steve went to bed and always up when Steve woke in the morning.

“I don't think so. It seems to be a trend. I get twitchy. Or something.”

Moving to his closet, Steve stripped off his shirt to grab a fresh one, a restaurant-appropriate one. When he turned, still doing up the buttons, Mark was staring at him. He jerked when Steve made him.

Mark had been with them, conscious, for just over 48 hours. And already, Steve trusted him with the boys. Trusted him in his house. He no longer thought that Mark was a sex worker. Or whatever. He was obviously brilliant. He knew things, he was like a mechanics-whisperer.

“You should...” he began to blurt before he flushed and looked away, searching for a pair of pressed khakis.

“I should what?”

“Mark! We're done cleaning!” Peter called, footsteps jarring the two of them out of their conversation.

“Hey,” Mark drawled. “Great job. Go get dressed. You're going out for dinner!”

“You should come,” he said one more time.

Mark shook his head. “I'm a little tired.”

Which, he was learning, meant that he was dead on his feet and needed sleep.

“Alright. Get some rest. We'll be back in a little while. Try not to wake you when we come in.”

Mark nodded and left while Steve changed his pants. Mark smiled at them, waiting until they were in the stairwell to shut the door.

It wasn't until they were sitting in the booth that Steve realised what a difference Mark had made in such a short period of time.

It was crazy how having him in the apartment had boosted his relationship with Clint. Made the kid more even-keel. How he'd brought Peter's passions to light. How he seemed to be a sort of grease that made everything run smoother. How easy he was with the boys. He blinked to clear his vision while he stared at the menu.  _That_ was not a good road to go down. Not right now.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Tuesday morning, the boys were off to school. Mark was draped over the couch looking soft and relaxed. Steve paused a moment, adjusting the throw over him before he went down to his car.

Which didn't start. Allowing himself a moment to swear and kick the tires, he pressed fingers to his temples and tried not to let the panic set in about car repairs when he didn't have the funds for it. Then he remembered Mark on the sofa—with his soft dark hair and thick lashes—who was a wizard with anything mechanical. And as much as he didn't want to wake him, he really didn't have a choice if he didn't want to be late to work.

He knelt next to the man and touched his shoulder gently. “Mark...” He kept his voice soft.

His eccentric lodger just stirred and breathed a word that sounded sounded like 'pepper.' Or maybe he was just having dreams about condiments.

“Mark?” He jostled him a little more until he blinked blearily and scrubbed at his eyes with one hand in a way that made Steve's heart clench while he thought of small sleepy children. “Hey... I'm  _so_ sorry to wake you. I need your help.”

“Wassup...?” he slurred, voice thick from sleep.

“My car won't start.” Steve ducked his head.

“Oh. Okay.” Mark rolled off the bed and shuffled to the front door of the apartment.

“Shoes. Shoes, Mark. We're going down to the garage.”

“Oh.”

Steve couldn't help the smile at his sleepy stupidness.

Mark slipped his feet into the dress shoes he'd come with and followed Steve down to the garage, somehow making it down in one piece with no help. He poked and prodded Steve's car for about ten minutes, still sleep-stupid, before declaring it 'all better.'

“Thanks,” he said warmly.

“I charge for my services,” Mark quipped back with a yawn.

A lightbulb went off. He grinned. “Great! Good to know. Can you get back up okay?”

Mark threw him a look. “I'm half-asleep and without caffeine, not stupid.”

“I know. You're a genius!” Steve grinned and leaned forward to kiss the man before realising his error and jerking back. “Okay bye, I'll see ya later!” he said in one breath and then climbed into his car and left.

On the way home, however, he stopped by Mrs. Olben's shop to pick up her broken clock that she'd been complaining about. He'd have it fixed for her, he promised, he knew a guy, if she'd pay him to do it. She quickly agreed. He also stopped at several apartments on floors one through three and came back with two more toasters, a sewing machine, three phones, and one fan. Which he left in the corner of the living room, complaining loudly that they didn't work.

Mark only gave him a look and continued flipping through a magazine on the couch. Wednesday morning, however, they were all fixed, Mark sacked out on the sofa.

Steve grinned and returned the items, collecting his small fee. He let it travel, word of mouth, that he had someone who could fix things, at school and at work, and soon, Steve had a trunk full of old appliances that he brought up for Mark to fix and then return. Some of them, Mark got to right away. Sometimes, the item lay in pieces on the coffee table for almost a week. He had Mark fixing CD players, Walkmans, toasters, microwaves, phones, computers, remotes, and bunches of other odds and ends. He never really asked Mark, but Mark grinned at him with a knowing eye and fixed the things cheerfully, Steve sometimes returning home to the guy whistling, humming, or outright singing. Steve would stand in the hall and listen, smiling to himself.

 


	7. Man Enough...

 Thursday Steve woke shouting. In the middle of the night.

There was a thumping in the other room, and he had a knife in his hands as Mark burst into the room, eyes wide. He jerked back, halting when he saw the knife.

Steve's arm was steady, though the rest of him was shaking as he panted for breath.

“Wow. Dude. S'okay. Just me. You're safe.”

Steve crumpled as he'd just said those same words to the guy a week ago. The knife clattered to the floor and he sagged in on himself, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Nightmare?” Mark asked casually, inching closer.

Steve nodded. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“It's fine. It's not your fault. Not like you can control it.”

Steve looked up. “The boys wake?”

“Not that I can tell.” Mark was closer now. Next to the bed. Steve still jumped when he felt the warm hand on the bare of the back of his neck. “Okay...” he murmured, tension thrumming through him. “Good. I don't...” He didn't move as Mark sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You didn't wake me.”

The rough pads of Mark's fingers moved in gentling circles on his skin. Steve was almost distracted.

“Relax. It's going to be alright.”

The words were ridiculous. No one could guarantee what would and wouldn't be 'alright.' But with Mark sitting next to him on the bed, offering, just offering comfort, Steve could let the shudders go and tremble a minute on his bed, not having to worry about being strong. Not having to worry about being put together. Not having to worry about having all the answers.

“You're pretty messed up, guy,” Mark continued, his voice low and completely non-biting. It was just a comment. Like he understood. Like he could feel it, see it, like he lived it too.

The fingers stopped circling as Steve's shaking lessened and he could breathe again. But the hand stayed there, Mark leaning closer like he wanted to offer something more. Steve took a deep breath of another bolstering kind and wrapped his arms around Mark's middle and pressed his face up against Mark's shoulder. “Just...one minute...” he said as Mark stiffened. Then Mark's shifted and scooted up against the headboard, arm around Steve's shoulders. “This is...okay with you?” he asked quietly, head sliding down to Mark's middle.

“Steve. If I weren't okay with it, you think I'm the type of guy who'd still be sitting here?” he drawled into the darkness.

It made Steve want him. Instead he hummed agreement as his breathing slowed He figured Mark would get up or move when he was done being Steve's personal teddy bear. Instead, he fell asleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Steve woke to light, warmth, and snickering. Cracking his eyes, he saw the boys standing, dressed, in his doorway, twin expressions of mischief on their faces. He swore mentally about his alarm not going off, and tried to sit.

Mark.

Mark was still in his bed, arm heavy around Steve's shoulders. Steve's face previously mashed into his belly. He flushed bright red.

“Mark and Ste~eve, sittin' in a tree,” Clint chanted.

“No!” He jabbed a finger at Clint. “That is _not_ what's going on here. I can promise you!” He scrambled to extricate himself from Mark and slipped out of the bed, tucking the sheets around him while he still slept. “Absolutely not.”

Clint and Peter snickered and then padded back down the hall to the kitchen while Steve followed. “He likes you too though,” Peter said.

Steve reeled back. “What? Did he say that?”

Peter shrugged. “He said you were a cool guy and he likes you. Sounds like it to me.”

He shook his head. “That's not.. He was just saying we're friends.”

“Looks like more than friends to me,” Clint said with a dirty grin. “Friends don't cuddle in beds together.”

“Clint Barton Rogers,” Steve said between grit teeth. “I am  _not_ seducing a guy who doesn't know who he is. And we are  _not_ having this conversation.”

“I think he's doing a pretty okay job of seducing you,” Clint said, sitting down with a bowl of cereal.

“What?” Steve stilled a moment before shaking his head. “Don't be ridiculous. Enough of this. I'm sorry I wasn't up earlier. Do you guys have everything you need for today?”

Peter nodded, shovelling oatmeal into his mouth. Clint nodded as well. “We're all set, Steve. Don't worry. World won't fall apart if you're not there to run it for a day.”

He repressed the wince. Because some days, that's exactly what it felt like. He took a steadying breath instead and got the boys bundled off to school before dressing and getting ready for class. He had the door open and one foot over the threshold before he sighed and scribbled a quick note to Mark: Thanks. I'll see you when I get home. -Steve

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Mark was draped over the arm of the sofa when Steve got back, head nearly brushing the floor, one of his feet propped up along the back.

“You'll get a headache that way,” was Steve's only comment.

“My parents are dead.”

Steve froze.

“It didn't just happen. I forgot about it. It happened a while back. I can only vaguely remember the newspapers and online articles. Though I still don't know who I am.”

Steve shifted his weight onto his good leg. “I'm sorry.”

Mark shrugged. As much as one could shrug draped over the arm of the couch. Somehow Mark managed it. “I don't think we got along well.”

Steve didn't really have anything to say to that.

“Hey. Dude. Don't worry about it.” Mark rolled off the couch with another one of his mocking sort of smiles aimed more at himself than anyone else. “Not like you can do anything about it. I just...remembered. And wanted to share.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Got more shit for me to fix?”

“In the trunk downstairs,” Steve murmured. Then, “You shaved.”

Mark puttered in the kitchen, pausing a second to pass a hand over his smooth face. “It was getting scruffy.”

“All of it?”

Mark shrugged. “Seemed like a defining feature that I don't deserve if I don't know why I have it.”

“And I'm sure, in some world, that makes sense.” Beat. “When did you get up?”

“Around noon.”

Steve huffed. “So you probably won't sleep tonight.”

“Hey,” Mark said with a pointed finger and a grin. “Don't you worry about me. You've got two other rugrats currently on their way up the stairs who need mothering. Fathering. Whatever. Not me.”

“How do you know they're on the way up?”

Mark flashed his watch with a grin while his free hand fished in his pocket. “I fixed the security system for your super.” He grabbed Steve's wrist and pressed a wad of cash in it. “You really could charge people more, you know.”

Steve flushed. “I didn't... Sorry. I probably should have asked you. But you seemed to enjoy it. So I just... And you needed things to do—”

“Steve. Chill. Jesus, are you high-strung. Don't worry about it. Fixing that stuff is a God-send. I don't know what I'd do without it. I need something to keep me occupied. Can't exactly get a job with no license and no identity... Besides. Untaxed money! Bully for you.”

“Well, I—” Steve sighed as the door banged open and Clint and Peter tumbled in. “Always noise with you two.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “We're kids. We're supposed to be noisy.”

“Sure, kid, sure,” Mark drawled.

Clint turned his hostile expression on him. Peter brushed past Clint, knocking him into the counter. “Jesus, Pete; watch where you're going.”

Peter glared at him, shoved Clint again and then stalked off to his room.

Steve shared a glance with Mark. That was new. He jerked a thumb at himself and then the direction of the boys' room. Mark nodded. But before he could get there, Clint squeezed past Steve and was pounding on the door.

“Peter Parker Rogers!”

“Woah, woah!” Mark grabbed one of Clint's fists, catching the other one that went to swing at his face. “Easy. Let Steve handle this one.”

Clint nearly hissed, struggling a minute before allowing himself to be lead away. Mark nodded at Steve over his head. “Pete?” he said gently, tapping on the door. “Can I come in?” When there was no answer, Steve pushed the door open. “Peter? What's the matter?”

Peter was curled up on his bed, back to the door.

Steve moved over to sit down next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Which Peter promptly shook off. “Pete,...”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“It might help...”

“No. It won't. Because there's nothing that you can do.”

“What's it about?”

“School,” Peter bit out.

“What about school?”

Peter scooted away from Steve. “I said I don't want to talk.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“I can at least make sympathetic noises about how much it sucks?” He thought he saw a brief smile.

“I failed a lab.”

“In science?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?” He left out the part where Peter's best subject was science.

“It wasn't even really my fault. It was my group-member's fault,” he pouted. “But now my grade's gonna be punished for it...”

Steve nodded sympathetically as promised.

“We started fighting and then spilled the whole thing.” Peter sniffed. “And we can't restart it 'cause Mr. Baylor said we don't have any extra materials!”

“Aw, Pete...” Steve scooted closer to his youngest brother and bundled him into a hug. Peter burst into tears. “It'll be okay,” he soothed as his shirt was slowly soaked.

When Peter stopped crying, Steve handed him the box of tissues off his shared bedside table. “You better?”

Peter nodded, staring at his lap.

“You hungry for dinner?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Okay. Well, you come out whenever you're ready, and we'll get you some food. Sound good?”

He nodded again. “'Kay. And Steve...?”

He paused, hand on the knob.

“Thanks.”

He smiled. “What I'm here for, Pete.” Closing the door behind him, he found Clint and Mark in the kitchen, munching on some perfectly toasted bread.

“Crisis averted?” Mark asked.

“Crisis averted.” 


	8. Commiseration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy mother's day folks!
> 
> I've really appreciated everyones' comments, and I'm really happy to hear that you guys are enjoying this. I like this chapter a lot, and I hope that you do too! :)
> 
> Now with awesome art!   
>   
> Thanks to [chickenhax](www.chickenhax.tumblr.com)

 Mark had lived with them for three and a half weeks now. Steve liked his presence. It seemed calming. On everyone. Mark was certainly his own brand of crazy, keeping odd hours, preferring messing with broken appliances (the more complex the problem, the more enjoyable) than taking walks outside. He still had no clue who he was. But he remembered little things sometimes. Like how much he liked cheeseburgers. So Steve got ground beef with some of the extra money Mark had earned them by fixing some guy's motorcycle and made cheeseburgers. Or how he liked Star Wars and found an old TV and VCR so they could watch the original trilogy. On a 13 inch screen, but that was fine. The boys loved it. And Steve actually did too. It didn't make a whole lot of sense. But that might have been because he had spent more of the film doodling Mark on his sketchpad than paying attention to the plot. Steve suspected he put a little more feeling than appropriate into the sketches, but Mark's rapt expression as he watched the screen and pointed out behind-the-scenes facts to the boys was kind of a wonder to behold.

Besides, he didn't miss the lingering looks Mark gave him. So it wasn't as if his pending interest was actually unrequited. It didn't feel like it was too soon after Bucky was gone now, either. There were moments when memories of him would rise up so strong that it felt like a punch to the gut. But when he woke sometimes to find Mark curled next to him on top of the covers in his bed, he couldn't find it in himself to turn him away. Neither of them had said anything. And Steve didn't plan on making the first move.

He didn't suspect it of being more than casual interest until Clint had one of his major blow-outs about something stupid that probably wasn't even the real problem. It was probably something at school, something with his friends, something with... _something_. Clint was a master at displacement. And Steve was always his favourite target.

Mark walked in from picking up take-out from the Chinese place on the corner to Clint yelling at Steve, Steve trying to be patient, but quickly losing the battle, remembering how much he hated yelling, and  _really_ not wanting to do this now.

“Dude. Stop being an ass to your brother,” Mark snapped, in just the right tone to take all the attention on himself.

Clint snarled in reply, “You're not supposed to say that word. And who are you to say anything; you don't even know who you are!”

“Maybe not,” Mark drawled, “but I know what respect is and who deserves it. And I know for sure your brother does because he's an awesome guy, and he's trying really hard for you. So the least you could do is not be a douche about it, yeah?”

“Mark,” Steve protested.

“Yeah, seriously,” Clint sneered. “You're not my dad, and neither is he!”

Mark's face tightened. Then went slack in a way that Steve had never seen—like some mask. He shuddered.

“You're right,” Mark said. “You don't owe him anything. Just payment for the roof over your head, the food you've eaten, the clothes you have, the comforts you experience. You don't owe him. Not a damn thing.” Mark then dumped the food on the counter and stalked passed them to the front door of the apartment, smacking the back of Clint's head as he went by. “Being a douche doesn't get you anywhere in life when you've nothing to back it up with. But hey, maybe you'll be lucky, and it'll get you dumped off a bridge like me.”

Then he was out the door. Clint stared after him, frowning, but looking, at least, like he was thinking. With a glance at Steve, he muttered an apology and then went to his and Peter's room.

Steve stared after him in amazement, Mark's comment about being a...a jerk got people dumped off bridges turning around in his head. He ran after him.

“Sorry,” Mark said, sitting at the top of the flight down. “I shouldn't have...that wasn't my place.”

Steve shook his head and sighed, sitting down next to him. “No, it's fine. Half the time, I don't know what to do with the kid. He doesn't listen and he's angry and bitter. And you reach him more often than I do. I haven't been doing this for long either, so I just...” Steve sighed. “Sorry. I don't mean to...”

“Whine?” Mark said with another one of his deprecating smiles. “Soldier, if anyone's got something to whine about, it's you.”

Steve shook his head. “It doesn't do any good.”

“But it makes you feel better,” he replied tiredly.

Steve gave a dry chuckle. “I guess.”

From then on, Steve was more careful around him, for his own sake, and Clint was almost a dream. Clint spent the first two days after Mark's stepping in on his and Steve's argument giving Mark hesitant little glares. But when Mark behaved like nothing was wrong, Clint immediately relaxed and even apologised.

“I don't know how you do it,” Steve marvelled over dinner one evening, Clint out at a friend's house and Peter at a journalism lock-in.

Mark looked up, mouth stuffed with food. “Phwa?”

Steve laughed. “Live like you do for one. But I was talking about handling Clint.”

Mark blinked and then shrugged. “It's easy. Kids don't want to be reminded of what they've done wrong. So if you just let it all settle in the past like we're supposed to, forgive 'em, then go forward with a clean slate? It's no longer a big deal.”

Chewing slowly, Steve watched him through his lashes. “You sound...”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Aw man, I  _hate_ it when people do that. Start something they don't finish.”

“It's just a half-formed thought. I don't know what I was going to say.”

“Yeah you do.”

“No—”

“Steve, you never start things you don't intend to finish. One of the things I like about you. So there's no way that you let words come out of your mouth that you didn't have a follow-up to.”

“You're amazing...”

Mark stared at him, eyes wide, then quickly blabbered, “I'm pretty sure that's not what you were going to say.”

“Not verbatim. But you get along really well with Clint now. And I think... I mean, it's just pretty amazing, seeing as I couldn't.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “It's not like that.”

“I'm not  _mad_ . I just... I don't understand where you went that I didn't.”

Setting down his fork, Mark wiped his hands on his napkin and sighed. “You get along really well with Peter. And it's because you're both the same type of person. You're intrinsically good people, with good intentions, who like to be the teacher's pet, who have to have things just this way. No, it's not a bad thing. I'm just sayin'. Clint and I... We're not that way. We're a kind of do-what-we-have-to-do type of guy.”

“Mark,” Steve protested.

“Nah, I may not know my name, but I can guess at the type of guy I am.” Another lop-sided self-assessing smile. “Clint's similar. Doesn't mean he's a bad kid. It just means that he's a little driven. Kid's got to prove himself. He's got to make his own way and doesn't want to rely on anyone else for support or help or direction. He's got to learn to make his own mistakes.”

“Wow,” Steve said lowly. For lack of anything else to say.

“And sometimes he needs to be slapped in the face with the realisation that he's not right, that he's being a dick, and that he needs to shape up or else.” Mark looked over Steve's shoulder, staring into some memory. “I think I've been told something similar by someone...important. To me.”

Steve frowned, staring into his pasta.

“The slapping bit was verbal, by the way.” Mark cleared his throat.

“Oh. Right.” Dinner went on in silence for a few minutes. “Mark...”

“What now, Steve?”

He looked up sharply, but Mark's face was soft with teasing. He gave a hesitant grin back. “Are there... Do you think there are people? That you left behind?”

He shrugged. “If there are, they sure aren't looking very hard.”

Steve's heart hurt hearing him say the words. “But—”

“I don't remember a lot of kindness, Steve,” he said gently. “Now why don't we talk about something else. Like that end-of-the-semester project that you've been avoiding.”

“How do you know about that!”

“Steve. Me? Sleeping? Not always great friends. So when I get bored of fixing junk, I look through your stuff.”

“Mark!”

“Enough to know you're super talented, not enough to pry. Though the rubric for your final fell out and there's no evidence of your canvas anywhere.” He leaned forwards on his elbows with a small grin. “Ergo, no project started.”

“Aren't you a regular Sherlock Holmes,” Steve muttered.

“So you haven't started.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“I don't know what to do!” He threw his hands up. “I'm utterly at my wit's end. I have no inspiration. I have no subject matter. I have absolutely nothing. And I've two weeks to get it done.”

“Not a whole lot of time for a guy who goes to school, works, and raises two kids and a homeless man.”

Steve threw him a look.

Mark grinned back. “What does it have to be?”

“An oil portrait.”

“Of anyone?”

“Yeah. Then there's some art mumbo-jumbo about it meaning something.”

“Don't even take that tone with me, Steve Rogers. That's probably what you're hung up on.” Mark's tone gentled. “Because you're the type of person who that means a lot to.”

“When did you suddenly know me inside and out?”

“Not quite inside,” Mark said, blank-faced.

Steve's neck went hot. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I'm stressed and try not to think about it...”

“Ah procrastination. I know it well.”

“You do?”

“Theoretically!” Mark stood and set his plate in the sink. “In the further spirit of procrastination, want to watch a movie with me?”

“On that tiny excuse for a television?”

“Hey. You didn't even  _have_ that 'tiny excuse of a television' until I came along!”

Laughing, Steve dumped his plate in besides Mark's and then followed him to the living room where they'd set up the VCR player and TV. “What are we watching?”

“We're going to be watching Forrest Gump.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“I got it off a guy for a quarter on the corner.”

Steve snorted.

“Hey! Do not mock me! I brought him down from a dollar.”

Sinking into the cushions, Steve snickered.

“It could also be because I only had a quarter on me. Alas. For I am broke.”

“You can ask me for whatever you want, you know,” Steve said quickly with a sharp stab of guilt.

Mark waved a hand and pushed the tape into the machine. “You feed me, clothe me, and give me a place to stay while my errant mind stays errant. Don't worry about it. I got all I need.” He fiddled with the player and then rewound the tape to the beginning before pressing play and throwing himself into the sofa next to Steve so that their shoulders bumped. “We are so rocking the 90s right now.”

He snickered again, not minding Mark's warmth up against his side. The other man fidgeted the first twenty minutes of the movie until he finally grabbed one of Steve's notebooks and began doodling in the back. Another fifteen minutes later, he was leaning against the far arm, toes drumming on Steve's thigh. It was... Nice. Comfortable. Easy.

Glancing at Mark out of the corner of his eye, he found himself smiling and paying him more attention than the movie. Tongue caught between his teeth, brow furrowed, light hitting half his face. It made Steve's fingers itch. His smile grew. Well. There was his inspiration. He grabbed another sketchpad off of his table and flipped it to a clean page, snagging the charcoal that was lying closest. By the time Forrest Gump was reconciling with his girl, Steve had four different sketches to work with, colour palettes running wild in his head.

Peter had come in and gone straight to his room earlier in the film, and Clint had followed shortly after that. So when the tape stuttered to a stop, Steve grabbed a throw from his room and covered Mark who was snuffling against the back of the sofa, pen fallen somewhere in his lap, notebook tipped up against his chest. Steve removed both, shaking his head at the indecipherable technical doodles that Mark had done.

Padding down to his own room, he set the sketchbook on his dresser and then tucked himself in for the night.


	9. We All Play a Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another beautiful art by AnonEhouse!  
>   
> More info: [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/409022?page=1)

 The next two weeks were supremely busy, Steve spending every free hour of his time trying to get Mark's likeness down on the canvas for painting. He'd cut down on some of his work hours just to be sure he had enough time to get his project completed. Mark was infinitely helpful, managing to get food on the table (it usually left something to be desired, but it was edible. And improving.), and get the boys off to bed in the evenings.

Better still, Mark didn't ask about his sudden inspiration—probably thought it had something to do with Forrest Gump, thank goodness. So Steve would be able to make it a surprise gift at the end of it all. So long as he kept a sheet over the painting, the easel turned towards the wall.

He decided on a muted palette, bringing in the cranberry from the walls behind Mark, using the yellowy-gold of the fluorescent lights to paint his bronzed cheeks. The blue of Mark's eyes shone through his lashes, dark hair a contrast to the few colours he was using. Steve finished the thing, to his reluctant satisfaction, two days before it was due. When the brushes were cleaned, paints shut, and painting satisfactorily turned into the corner, he emerged from his room towards the tail end of dinner. He plopped into a seat with the boys and Mark.

“All done?” Clint said.

“Can we see it?” Peter asked.

“Finished,” Steve said, slouching against the chair back. “And no, you can't see it.”

Mark smiled while the boys whined, “Why not?” in tandem.

“Because!” Steve said with a smile. “I happen to be very proud of this piece, and no one's going to see it, besides my professor, until the unveiling at the show.”

“It's going to be in a show?” Peter's eyes were wide with a sort of awe.

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Awesome,” the kid whispered to his lasagna.

“Hungry?” Mark asked, already walking to the counter to dish some out for Steve.

“Starving, thanks.”

Clint snorted.

“What, little man? Something funny?” Mark said, looking small in one of Steve's t-shirts.

“You guys are like an old married couple...” He paused, lips twitching in a way that promised mischief. “And you're the wife, Mark.”

Mark turned around, false fury burning in his face. “Ex _cuse_ me, young man?” He brandished the spatula, little flecks flying towards Clint who screwed up his face. “You will _not_ be speaking to me like that.”

Steve snorted into his palm.

“Great!” Mark continued, throwing his hands up. “Now  _every_ one rebels against me!” But his eyes twinkled at Steve's and Peter and Clint were giggling over their food. He plopped a plate in front of Steve and then dumped himself into his own chair. “So. Show?”

Steve nodded and dug in. “Oh. Oh wow.”

“What?”

“This is... This is  _great_ , Mark!”

Mark shrugged.

“Where'd you find the recipe?”

“I...remembered it.”

“Remembered it.”

Mark nodded then waved a hand at him. “Tell me about your show.”

He hid a grin. “This is really good,” he said, watching his cheeks flush from the praise. “The show will be held at the school, in one our big reception halls. There'll be hors d'oeuvres. Probably some champagne. Kind of fancy. Lots of people. That type of thing.”

“When is it?” Peter asked.

“A week from Friday.”

“Alrighty,” Mark said. “We'll be there.”

“What?”

“Well, you said you wouldn't show us. So if we want to see your grand masterpiece, then we'll have to go to the show.”

“Oh. Right.” He smiled. “You'll have to actually wear real clothes, Mark,” Steve teased.

Mark rolled his eyes. “For you? I'll do it.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Steve dug out the clothes he'd found Mark in. He'd had them laundered. The guy at the dry cleaners had looked at him in despair when he'd brought them in. But fortunately, he had done his job well and gotten the suit cleaned and pressed. He'd brought it home while Mark slept, and hung it in his closet.

With the completion of his project and the semester winding to a close, Steve had less classes, and more time to claim open shifts and make up the hours that he'd taken off for finishing his project. And between his and Mark's unexpectedly steady income, he was able to make all of the needed payments.

The comment Clint had made the other night at dinner kept bouncing around in his head repeatedly at the most inopportune moments. 'Like a married couple.' He supposed it was kind of true. Mark staying at home to work and take care of the boys. Steve going out to school. To work. Since the death...since Bucky was gone, and Steve had come home, he had hardly been able to think about the man without inducing a minor panic attack. He still didn't sleep well, true, but when Mark came to his bed, sitting up, reading, by some little light he'd cobbled together out of spare pieces of whatever he found lying around, Steve could maybe pretend that they  _were_ together. That he  _did_ have someone to share his life with. And maybe things  _could_ be okay. 

It wasn't like Mark wasn't interested. He saw the way he'd pause when Steve entered the room. The way he smiled when they bantered back and forth. Mark loved it. He hadn't pegged down Mark's inability to take a compliment, and still couldn't figure out where Mark had come from. The clothes were fine. Dolce. But his hands were rough. Like a laborer. Like Steve's father, from what he can remember. So he was left with few clues and many questions. So he settled for feeling alive again, the limp not hanging over him like a curse. The dreams fading faster in the morning light. The promises of something new and exciting hanging just beyond his reach.

Until Mark remembered, there was nothing that he would do.

He pushed the door open and set his keys down, heading straight to his room, eager to get the smell of a long day off his skin. He stopped thinking as the water rushed over him. Towelled himself dry and dressed in comfortable clothes and then flopped next to Mark on the sofa.

“Hey,” Mark said softly, hands stilling on the spare parts of...something.

“Hey.”

“How was work?”

“The same as always. Cranky customers. Hungry people. Bad tips.”

“Except from the old ladies.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Steve, old ladies love you. You're endeared to them.”

“They pity me,” Steve said sourly.

“You're eye-candy, Steve, whether you like it or not.”

“Oh stop it,” he snapped more sharply than he intended.

Mark arched an eyebrow but let it lie, fingers twitching back into motion.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.”

“Steve, everyone has a bad day. I mean, look at me! Still don't know who I am.”

“I wish you wouldn't do that,” Steve murmured.

“Do what?”

“You put yourself down.”

“What?”

“You don't even notice it?” Steve shifted on the sofa to look him over.

“I don't put myself down.” Mark didn't look at him.

“You do. And you  _know_ it! Mark! Look at me!” He brought his good leg up so he was facing sideways, looking at Mark. Who pointedly didn't look back. “You're amazing. You know that?”

Mark scoffed.

“You are! I don't know why you can't see that—”

“I can't see much of anything!” Mark snapped then looked away and said more quietly so as not to wake the boys. “I am no one, Steve. No one.”

“How can you even  _say_ tha—”

“I have no identity. No future. And while I'm being incredibly useful to you and your little family here, it's as far as I go. I get sick, I have no health insurance. I have no form of income, other than these little fix-it jobs, which was a brilliant idea on your part, because I don't have an identity so they can't pay me. I may have a bank account somewhere. I could have hundreds of dollars. I could have thirty. But either way, it doesn't matter, because I can't access it. So it's all a moot point. So right now, my worth is my hands, and my mind. So... So I'm sorry. For snapping. But this isn't... It isn't easy. And right now, it just...” He sighed heavily and tangled his fingers into the hair at his temples. “Right now, I just feel useless.”

Steve let the words settle like sand at the bottom of a glass of water. Then, “I think, Mark, no matter who you are, that this has kind of become your family too...” He reached out and curled his fingers around Mark's wrists. “You've helped in ways you don't know.” Drew him closer. “You are amazing. You're funny, smart, capable. Mark....you mean a lot. To me. I don't regret rescuing you.”

“I was probably heavy to drag back with that leg of yours...” he replied, hands falling out of his hair into Steve's lap. He didn't look at Steve, stared at the pattern of the couch.

Steve laughed softly, more of a huff of breath than anything else. “You've certainly made my life more interesting.” He let himself fall forward until his forehead was resting against Mark's. Steve wasn't at all surprised when their lips came together. He was surprised when it was soft, tentative, and sweet. He wasn't surprised when Mark pulled back with a sigh. He was surprised when he found himself leaning forward, eyes opening to meet Mark's blues. Mark opened his mouth.

“I'll be glad to have you at the art show,” Steve said quickly.

Mark huffed and pulled back. “I'm intrigued. You've intrigued me. That's not easy to do.” Mark tilted his head, looking up at the corner of the ceiling. “For people anyway. Give me a machine, and I'm in heaven.”

“I know,” Steve said, grinning.

Mark laughed. “Well, you can keep your surprises. I won't pry.”

“Well, you can't. I've turned it in already.”

“Mm. Well. I'm beat... I think I might actually sleep.”

Steve nodded and stood. He frowned at the clock a moment before ducking his head and offering a hand to the other man.

Staring at it a second, Mark looked up to Steve, his face open. A little fearful. “I...”

He dropped his hand.

Mark caught it halfway. Stood. Allowed himself to be lead to Steve's bedroom and drawn into the bed, beneath the covers, with Steve, for the first time.


	10. Stark

 Steve woke the day of the art show, warm and pleasantly at peace. Mark had stayed in his bed, in a purely platonic manner, chasing away the nightmares. He heard puttering in the kitchen telling him that Clint or Peter or both were awake and fixing themselves breakfast. Mark's back was to his side, bottom arm extended behind him awkwardly.

His nerves fizzled along his skin at the prospect of him being in the spotlight for the evening, but he calmed at the thought of Mark being at his side for support. Hopefully he'd take the subject matter as flattery. His professor, on seeing the portrait had tsked and shook his head sadly while praising the colours and composition.

“God, why do you wake up so early,” Mark mumbled into the pillow.

Steve started.

“Calm down, boy scout.” Mark grunted as he shifted and pushed himself into a sitting position. “I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”

“What do you mean 'all the way over there,'” Steve laughed. “This is a small double.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mark asked, scrubbing hands over his eyes.

“Sleep well?”

He grunted again.

“I'm a little nervous.”

“Don't be,” Mark said, on reflex. “You'll be perfect.”

“I cleaned your clothes.”

“My clothes?” Mark stretched.

“Your suit.”

He blinked in surprise. “It was salvageable?”

“Apparently. The guy at the cleaners probably hates me now though.”

Mark snorted. “Awesome.” Then swung out of bed and padded down to the bathroom, wearing only a pair of over-sized sweats that had belonged to Steve. Now re-appropriated. Steve didn't mind. He sighed and rolled out of bed too, heading down to the kitchen while Mark used the bathroom.

“Morning, Steve,” Peter said around a mouthful of cereal.

“Morning, Pete. Clint still asleep?”

Peter nodded, going back to his book.

Steve put the coffee on to brew for Mark (and himself), and then got breakfast. He slouched around for an hour after that to waste time before getting himself all suited up. Today, he'd find out his grade. Today, Mark would see the painting of himself. Today, the rest of everyone would too... Steve took a deep calming breath and then forced himself about to get ready for the show at 4.

At about noon, he panicked. He snapped at Peter and Clint, telling them to shower and eat—no eat _then_ shower so they didn't make a mess. Clint had responded with something snappy about how they weren't five and knew how to not spill on themselves.

Mark remained leaning against the wall, amused grin playing about his lips.

Until Steve snapped at him too—why wasn't he getting ready? What was so amusing about this situation? Why wasn't he _helping_ , dammit!

Mark sighed and took Steve by the shoulder and sat him down on the sofa. “Calm down.”

“Don't patroni—”

“Calm down,” Mark said again in an infuriatingly calm voice. “You're just stressed. And you're taking it out on all of us.”

“Yeah!” Clint said, arms folded in a tiny bundle of righteous anger.

“Let the man be, short stuff,” Mark said mildly. “We'll all be ready. We'll all be on time. Don't worry. Now. Deep breath. You're gonna be great. You're going to be fantastic. And you're talented. So I'm sure you're going to get a really good grade on this. I know you worked hard.”

Steve took a deep breath and finally looked up at Mark with a wry sort of grin. “I thought I was the one who gave inspired motivational speeches.”

“Yeah, well...” Mark drawled.

“I'm sorry. I'm kind of freaking out.”

“No 'kind of,' Steve. You _are_.” But Mark's voice was affectionate. “Now. Put all that nervous energy to use and find something to do.”

By 1:30, Steve was calmer, but still pacing around the apartment looking for something to do. Mark sighed in his direction, lazing on the sofa. “Come watch TV.”

“TV? How do we have a signal?”

“I commandeered service from next door.”

“Mark...”

Mark grinned.

So Steve watched some ridiculous (though pretty) animated show about some kids until almost 2:30. Then he made everyone get dressed. Steve parted Peter's hair and slicked it down, making sure the boys were well on their way to being fully ready before heading into his room to change. The still-bagged suit he'd cleaned for Mark was still laid out on the bed. “Mark! Get changed!”

“I know! Chill,” Mark called from elsewhere in the apartment. “Get dressed, then I will.”

He was out quickly, Clint and Peter loitering by the kitchen door. “Already!” he cried in despair. He moved towards Peter, hair tousled on his head.

“No no no!” Mark intercepted him suddenly, hands on his chest, pushing him back lightly. “They're fine! Their hair is fine. It's an art show. Not an opera!”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“They should look...artful!” Mark turned him away from the boys. “Now go give your teeth one last brush while I get ready, and then we can leave. Cool?”

“Uh...” He looked at Mark, button-up hanging open, still in his sweats. “You going to be ready in a few?”

“Of course!” And then Mark was gone.

Steve shook his head, ignoring the boys' giggling and gave his teeth a brush. No harm in it. He took an extra minute to stare himself down and project calm and in-control. To his surprise, Mark _was_ ready by the time he exited the bathroom, looking in _cred_ ibly handsome in his tux, lines of his slacks smooth, the crease sharp down the front of his leg. “Wow.”

Mark smirked. “Not bad yourself, handsome.”

“Ew. God. Stop flirting,” Clint groaned.

Steve jerked and flushed, grabbing his keys and locking the door behind them all. Okay. He was ready to go.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The gallery was a medium sort of busy when they arrived. As soon as they walked in the door, his stomach seized up and he made himself take slow shallow breaths. Mark's hand suddenly warmed the small of his back. Throwing him a grateful smile, he ushered Peter and Clint through the doors.

“Can we see it?” Peter asked, rolling up onto his toes to peer around.

“Steven!” another voice called before Steve could answer.

He threw a panicked glance at Mark who grinned and nodded.

“Guys, we'll take a turn around the place, look at everybody else's stuff first. Save Steve's for last. Because we _know_ that it's going to be the best.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat as he ignored the half-hearted moans of his half-brothers. “Thanks,” he muttered as Professor Wakeman hurried across the floor. “Hi.”

“Steven, I'm glad you're here. Come on. Your portrait is garnering _quite_ the throng. It's certainly a different side of him that the public rarely sees.” He waved at him to follow and headed straight back to where there was, indeed, a group of people assembled around his painting.

“What's going on?” he gasped.

“Did you know him well? It looks incredibly intimate...” Professor Wakeman said softly. “He looks like he's enjoying himself. And you obviously painted it with such love. I didn't know, Steven, that you had such a connection to Stark.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Your subject material...” Wakeman said, staring at him like he was slow and possibly stupid. “Choosing to paint Tony Stark after his disappearance and suspected death is quite a bold move. It surprised me, to be honest. You did such a lovely job with it though. He looks... at peace. It's a beautiful tribute, Steven. He was the greatest technical artist of our time. Visionary...” Wakeman looked back at Steve's portrait.

His portrait of _Mark_ . Who was...“Tony Stark,” he whispered, the floor dropping out beneath him. Tony Stark. There wasn't a person in New York, probably the _world_ who didn't know the name Tony Stark. Apparently it was just Steve who didn't know the face. Shit. Why would he know? He never looked at news online. He never had time for newspapers, unless they were serving as a floor covering in case he dripped paint. He hadn't had a TV until Mark— _Tony—_ had found him one. Shit.

“Steven? You're looking a little pale,” Wakeman said. “Why don't you go get some water. Then you can talk about your painting. People are very excited to hear what you have to say.”

Shit. “U-uh...sure...” he said, his voice coming out wrangled. Shit. He fled. Tony Stark. Tony Stark had been living with him for about two months. Steve grabbed a flute of champagne and locked himself in a bathroom stall. “Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.” Tony was a billionaire. He thought he'd heard something about him being proclaimed dead. He had a dead man living with him. He tossed back the champagne. Then nearly dropped the glass, bobbling it as the door crashed open and a person threw themselves into the stall next to him, vomiting into the toilet. Steve winced and tried not to listen.

The person panted, spitting.

Steve knew those shoes. He shoved the door open and set the glass down on the sink. “Mark?”

“Jesus,... Steve?” Mark said— _Tony_ said—weakly.

“Oh Mark... What happened?” He snagged the flute and filled it with clean water and handed it to him.

Mark swished and spat into the toilet before standing shakily and flushing. His face was pale and slick with a sheen of sweat. “Sorry...”

“Sorry for what? What's wrong? Do you feel sick?” _Jesus_ , he'd be the man that got Tony Stark sick.

“No...” Mark shook his head. “I just... Being here. Triggered something. I felt... I was _furious_ , and then felt sick. I... The boys! I left them on their own. I'm sorry!”

“Clint's 14. Peter's 11. They're smart kids. They'll be fine here. Are _you_ okay.”

“I'll be fine,” Ma—Tony said, hand pressed to his breastbone, taking slow deep breaths. He leaned against the stall divider and tipped his head back a moment.

“What do you need?”

“I'll be fine...” He slid down the plastic until he was sitting on the ground. Pressed the back of one hand to his forehead. “I just need....”

“Want another thing of water?”

Mm—Tony nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. That'd be...great. Steve.”

He crouched in front of Tony, weak leg twinging, and offered him the refilled flute. Mark really didn't need to have his whole world shaken. Again, apparently. Steve chewed on his lip.

“What's the matter with you?” Tony said after a moment.

“What?”

“Get nervous again?” he said with a pale grin. “Confident people don't hide in the bathroom with a glass of champagne.”

“What do you know?” Steve joked weakly.

“I know things...” Tony's eyes fluttered shut as he let his head fall back on the divider. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.” He downed the glass and handed it back to Steve. “So?”

“I just...” He smiled and shook his head. “I'll tell you later. Can you stand?”

“I can stand just fine. In a minute. In a minute there'll be standing,” Tony said, already sounding perkier.

“Good. Good,” Steve smiled gently. He stood and set the glass on the sink again before offering Tony a hand. He pulled him up and grasped his shoulders. “Want to rinse your mouth again?”

“You're really a natural parent,” Mark said. But he went to the sink and cupped water into his mouth before swishing and spitting again. “That was unpleasant. I hate puking.”

“I think most people do.”

Tony snorted. “Smart-ass.”

He grinned. “Ready?”

“Yeah. I'm good.”

“You don't want to go home?” Steve's smile faltered. His apartment wasn't home. Not for Tony Stark.

“No,” Tony said with a tired smile. A real one though. “I haven't seen your painting yet. Can't leave without getting what I came for!”

“Uh...” Shit. How was he going to explain this one... He swallowed and followed Tony out of the bathroom to where Clint and Peter were waiting. Standing in front of another student's portrait, they were arguing about how ugly it was.

“That's not nice,” Steve hissed.

“We know,” Clint said blandly. “But you have to admit. It _is_ ugly.”

Steve looked up at it. It looked like someone had tried to combine the styles of Picasso, Klimt, and Monet. It was rather hideous. Not that he would admit that out loud. “Come on. We're going to go see mine.”

“Yay!” Peter's eyes lit up, ugly painting promptly forgotten.

“Um. Yeah. This way.”

“Don't worry,” Tony whispered as he walked by, clearly attributing his reluctance as nerves.

Steve squared his shoulders and took the lead, crossing the gallery, avoiding other students to get to his piece. When they got close, Wakeman looked delighted to see him again.

“There you are!” And threw an arm around Steve's shoulders, dragging him into the throng of people who kindly parted.

He glanced at the nameplate, forgetting that he hadn't given the portrait a title. It simply said 'Stark,' and his name. That was easy enough to misconstrue.

“Steven,” Wakeman was saying, “why don't you tell us about your piece.”

“Sure. Um. Hello.” He gave a small wave, feeling his face heat as he looked around at the people. Then he found Tony. Tony was staring at his piece, jaw slack, eyes wide with the sort of awe that made his chest ache. “Oh.” Tony looked at him, back to the piece, back to him again. Steve smiled. Tony's face, when he smiled suddenly, beamed. “I did this piece because...” He looked at the other people, not wanting to out Tony Stark, but wanting to tell Mark. Wanting him to _know_. He bit his lip. “It's a portrait of a person who's pretty special to me. He's had a lot of influence in my life. Lately.” He met Tony's eyes. “I came home from war, wounded. My best friend killed in action. I didn't know what to do. And then my father and his wife were killed in a car accident. I inherited my two half brothers. They're here tonight.” He looked away from Tony to gesture at Clint and Peter. “I'm really happy to have them here tonight.” He gave them each a smile, Peter beaming back, Clint dropping his eyes as his cheeks flushed slightly. Steve took a deep breath. “Then this guy... He kind of fell into my life and made... Geeze. He made everything bearable. Better. So... This is my tribute to him. And how thankful I am that he came along when he did.”

The people standing there clapped politely and he was quickly surrounded by people asking questions. A glance at Tony told him that the man was still staring with a sort of awe, edging around the people to get closer to the painting. The boys followed. Steve answered the questions distractedly, watching Tony's hand reach out to touch the canvas, pulling back before he made contact.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said to the people. “I appreciate your questions and your interest. I'm afraid that's all the questions I'm going to answer.” He smiled politely and then stepped up to Tony's side.

“Steve...” Tony said, breathless. “It's... _me_.”

“Yeah.”

“You painted me...”

“Who else would I paint, Tony—Mark,” he said indulgently.

Tony shook his head, still staring in awe.

“Tony?” Peter said.

Steve froze then stepped back to make a neck-cutting motion at Peter, mouthing 'later' to him.

Peter screwed up his face. “What?”

Steve just held up a finger to his lips. “Not now,” he whispered.

“Wow. It looks...great,” Clint said loudly, stepping on Peter's foot.

“Ow...” he whined under his breath.

“I'll say...” Tony said, turning to Steve with a smile. “Thanks. I can't... I can't really say anything else. It's...It's really incredible.”

“Only because you are.”

“Oh gross.” Clint pulled a face. “You two are nauseating, you know that.”

Tony laughed and grabbed Clint close. “You're just jealous of how awesome I am.”

Clint rolled his eyes and pushed at Tony. “I. Think. You're. Gross!” He squirmed away making Tony laugh. Easy clear laughter. Enjoyment.

Steve smiled indulgently and tucked away his secret for the peace of behind closed doors.


	11. Revelations

 What should have been an easy decision ended up being the worst thing of his life. For the moment. He fretted for the rest of the night, worried about Tony walking around. Worrying about his reaction when Steve told him. He didn't want to tell him at the gallery. He didn't want to tell him in the car, to have him feel trapped with nowhere to go. He wanted to pull him into his room and sit him down and tell him. Only... As he sat in the car, driving home, Clint and Peter listless in the back seat, Tony sagged next to him, he didn't know how. His left foot bounced on the floor of the car despite the twinges it gave him. His left hand drummed rhythms on the window as they passed street after street until the apartment building was in sight. The butterflies in his stomach kicked it up to whirlwind levels of discomfort.

So instead, as Steve parked, he asked, “Anyone hungry?”

“No,” Clint said.

“No,” Peter echoed.

“No...” Tony chimed in. “Ate too many hors d'oeuvres. They had good devilled eggs. I've had better. Somewhere.”

Steve nodded. He couldn't really eat now either. “Right. Well, Clint and Pete, why don't you guys go change out of your nice clothes. I think we have 16 Candles on VHS that we can watch.” He locked the car and trudged up the stairs behind everyone.

“You okay?” Tony asked as Steve unlocked the door.

“Fine,” he said tightly. He could _feel_ Tony's frown, but he pushed the door open and loitered in the kitchen area while the boys headed to their room.

“Steve,” Tony said expectantly.

“Mark...” Steve said, pained. He sighed at Tony's alarmed look and then grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards his room as planned.

“Woah. Steve. Steve?”

He shut the door behind them, turning to face Tony. He still looked amazing. His slacks still pleasantly snug. His shirt still looking clean and fresh, despite the incident in the bathroom. His jacket smooth across the shoulders and down the front. The thing really did fit him incredibly well. Probably bespoke, with as much money as Tony Stark made. He wondered how he ended up in the river. In that area of town. Dozens of possibilities ran through his mind, each one less flattering than the one before.

“Steve?”

He jerked and took a deep breath. “Okay. I have...” He cleared his throat. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah...” Tony said cautiously.

“I know who you are.”

Tony frowned. “You...” Then his eyes flew wide, hungry. Wanting for a minute before he dropped his gaze and frowned. “Okay.”

“Mark....” Steve reached out to soothe something he couldn't see. Pulled his hands back and tucked them under his arms. “Your name is Tony Stark. You're a missing person. Might have been declared dead. You're a billionaire genius who owns a huge company right here in New York.”

Tony stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh.”

“Do you remember?” he asked desperately.

Tony shook his head. “No. Nothing.” He affected a half-shrug. “But hey. At least I know my name, right?”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that he didn't recognise, but recognise what it meant. Pleading. He didn't have the words for this. Please? Please what? Please remember? Please stay? Please give me something more than that distressed face? Please don't hate me. Please don't look so sad—it makes me hurt too?

He turned away.

“When'd you find out?”

“Tonight,” Steve said, voice rough. “I didn't know. I didn't know who you were. I just...”

“Steve, stop!”

He snapped his mouth shut, looking at Tony.

“Don't tell me anymore. You've... I don't remember yet. So I'll just... I'll stay here. For...for another night. Or something.”

Steve opened his mouth, the moment lost when Peter and Clint knocked at the door. “We gonna watch the movie, Steve?”

“Yeah!” Tony said brightly. “And good news, guys! I know who I am!”

“You remember?” Clint blinked.

“Well no. Not so much that part. But your bro found out what my name is,” he smiled. It was fake. It wasn't a real smile. “Tony.”

“Tony,” Peter looked him over. “I can see it. I think you make a good Tony.”

He laughed. “Thanks, P. C'mon. Let's get that movie started. Then I'll put in some popcorn.”

As Tony walked out of the room without a backwards glance, Steve pressed his thumbs into his temples. Shit.

“Steve! Come ooonn!!” Peter called.

Steve took a deep breath and went into the other room for the movie.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Tony didn't talk about his identity for two days. He answered more readily to 'Mark' than to Tony, but after Sunday, that stopped. Steve was hesitant to leave him alone Monday when the boys went to school and Steve had work. Tony was acting unlike himself. Or maybe was acting  _like_ himself. Steve didn't know. Either way, Tony encouraged him out the door for some of his final classes. Also to collect his projects that the teacher had held onto for Steve's portfolio. He did, however, hurry home afterwards. 

“Tony?” He dumped his keys on the counter and toed his shoes off quickly.

“Relax, Steve,” he called from the other room. “I'm still here. You're home early.”

“Yeah...” he said slowly. “There wasn't much to do today. With the semester almost over.”

“Right...”

“I went to MIT. Did you know that? At age 15.”

Steve stopped in the doorway to the living room.

“I remember that. I remember bad decisions. I remember  _stupid_ decisions. Geeze. I don't know how I stayed alive those years.”

“Tony...”

“Nah. I mean...” Tony leaned his head over the back of the sofa to give Steve a lop-sided smile. “I remember.”

“Oh Tony...” He skirted the couch and gingerly sat next to him. “I don't know what to say. That's a good thing. But you... You don't look happy.”

“Yeah...” Tony croaked, looking down at his lap. Legs propped on the table, his other arm was flung across the arm of the couch, the picture of ease in his surroundings, save for the brokenness in his features. “I think Ob... I think my Deputy Director... My second in command? At my company? I think he tried to have me killed,” he whispered.

“Shit...” Steve breathed.

“Yeah. Great, huh. Even the guy who was my best...was...” Tony took a deep breath. “He was like a father to me. Since, you know,  _my_ dad was an asshole. And then died. Wow. Look at me and my problems.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don't mean to be all...” He waved a hand around.

“Tony. This is... That's a heavy accusation.”

“No, but you see...” He shifted and turned sideways to face Steve. “I went to the library. Borrowed your baseball hat, Steve. And did some...Basically I hacked my company. They won't find out. They're all too stupid. So I... Geeze, this is a long story.” He sighed. “Okay. My friend Rhodey was killed in Afghanistan. And it was my fault.”

“Tony! It's a war. People die,” Steve said harshly. “That can't be true.”

“It was my missile,” Tony said firmly, waving away Steve's soft assurances. “My fault.”

“How—”

“Enemy hands got ahold of a shipment. It's my fault. So I wanted to stop weapons production at S.I. Only.... That's our biggest source of income and Obie—Obadiah Stane, my Deputy Director, thought that was a bad plan. But I was stupid and thought it was a good idea.”

“That's not stupid, Tony; that's noble.”

“No, that's not why I was stupid. I thought he'd listen to me. You know. Since he'd practically raised me. And I...I  _trusted_ him— _fuck_ .”

“Tony. Tony, it'll be alright! You'll—”

“No it's  _not_ alright!” Tony shrieked, pushing Steve's hands away. “He side-lined me, Steve! He treated me like I was nothing. He saw my ideas and thought, 'you're a stupid kid, why should I listen to you, I should be running this company!' He... _Je_ sus. I  _saw_ those guys in his office.  _Fuck_ , then I went and got drunk! And—”

Steve stared at him, hands hovering in the air, unsure of a course of action. “I don't... I don't understand.”

Tony groaned, dropping his face in his hands. “There was a night gala... _thing_ . To honour my father. Stupid bastard. So I got drunk. Not the most well-adjusted way of handling something, I know, but I...I did. Revenge... There's all this stuff mixed up in that decision that I really don't need to word-vomit now, but then this  _guy_ showed up. He's the head of another business, and he's always trying to steal my tech, ideas, employees, latching on like a corporate parasite to every new thing I do... And then I went for a walk and they jumped me. The guys. The ones I saw in Obie's office. They smacked me around and dumped me over the bridge.”

“But you got yourself out.”

“Somehow,” Tony said harshly, sitting up and rolling his eyes. “And then the rest...as they say...is history,” he finished with a bitter outward fling of his arms. “Ta-da.”

“Tony...” Steve reached out again, touching Tony's shoulder lightly.

“ _Fuck_.”

Steve flinched back. “I'm sorry.”

“For what? Rescuing me? Or for something that's not your fault. As usual.”

He flinched again. “That's not...” Steve sighed and pulled Tony in tight to his chest, hugging him fiercely. They sat there. For a little while. Until most of the tension leeched out of Tony's body.

“He's trying to have me declared dead,” Tony said quietly. “I've been missing. No sign of me. No body. Obviously. And... they all  _think_ I'm dead anyway.”

“Go back! Get your company back. You're the head guy, right? Do what you want. Fire him! You can do that, too, can't you?”

Tony shook his head against Steve's chest. “I don't... Steve. Steve, I don't really  _want_ to go back.”

He inhaled sharply. “But it's your...”

“Exactly. My what. So I have money. Whatever. The only one left who would care is Pepper. And even she has probably given up hope.” He pushed away and shrugged, face blank. “It'd be easier to just stay here. I can be 'Mark.' Get myself some identification. Won't be that hard, if I can get access to the right servers.”

“Okay. Wow. No. Tony. I do  _not_ think that's a good idea,” Steve said firmly.

Flinching back slightly, hurt flashed across Tony's face. “Well, I mean, I would pay rent... Or I could...”

“No! No. No, that's not what I meant! I meant, Tony, I'd... I'd really love to have you stay here...” he said, voice trailing off, flush spreading up his neck. “I just think you should... Tony, I think you're right. And you need to stand up for what you believe.”

“Oh God... That's the sappiest speech I've ever heard...!”

Steve's spine straightened, but Tony's lips were twitching. “Oh. Okay. Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I still mean it. I mean, you  _should_ take back what's yours. I say you go public. Let the world know you're alive.”

Tony patted his thigh and gave him a small smile. “We'll see. The business... Well. I'll think about it.” He stood and walked into the bathroom, closing himself in for a shower.

Steve, left on the sofa with feelings of want that bubbled closer to his skin than before, tying him to the strange man that had fallen into his life, much like all of the other things. He'd fallen into loneliness. He'd fallen into parenthood.

Steve sighed and sagged back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling. God this had become such a mess.


	12. Opposite Poles

 As soon as the door was shut, Tony flipped on the shower and stripped himself down. He pulled the curtain, hid in the water. Took slow breaths. Jesus. Let the water rush over him for a while and blank his mind until he could reconstruct it to think.

He'd remembered Sunday. Woke up gasping as the memories flooded out of his dreams and into his consciousness. He was on the sofa, having been awake late and not gone back to Steve's bed with him. He spent the rest of the night, and then Monday, sorting through his thoughts and getting everything as straight as he could in his head. Then he went to the library. Hacking the system, with his renewed memory of the ins and outs of of Stark Industries, was easy. Some of the movements of money and product and staff and restructuring had made him frown, curious and suspicious. Checking into Obie's accounts and stuff, he frowned more at what he saw there. Looking into his activities, he felt the old anger from before ignite.

Then he'd dug some more and found out that Obie was pushing for his death to be marked as official. While it hadn't been nearly long enough. And that had thrown him for another whole loop. He'd sequestered himself in the bathroom at the library and taken deep breaths. By the end of this thing, Tony would be able to market his own deep breathing techniques.

Then he went back and tore the web apart to find out everything he could.

Which, apparently, was a lot.

Tony grit his teeth and sorted through all of the information. He was surprised, at first, when Pepper was still listed as an employee, salary and position unchanged. That lasted a second before his gut twisted with the thought that perhaps she had been instrumental in Obie's apparent plan of Get-Rid-of-Tony-Stark. He ran to the bathroom again to slump over a toilet that did not receive any offerings.

Tony hated throwing up.

Hated the feeling of being about to throw up. Either it was going to happen or not. The worst place was where his body prevaricated on whether or not to upchuck his stomach contents into the porcelain bowl.

He swallowed shakily as his brain finally caught up and had enough sense to tell him that there was no way Pepper would be in league with Obie—Stane. He didn't deserve the familiarity of a nickname any longer. Pepper hadn't ever really liked him. And she'd always supported Tony.

He went back to the computer.

Calmed himself. There were a lot of things that needed to be done. If he wanted to go back.

His fingers paused over the keys as he licked his lips. If he wanted to go back. Now there was a thought.

Before he knew it, he was in the social security database—that was probably illegal, but who the fuck cared at this point—he could make himself Mark. He could be Mark for the rest of his life and live...He could live with Steve and the boys. He could drain his bank accounts—set it up so that it was retrograde, make it look like if Tony was declared dead, his funds would be dispersed. Charity, Pepper, far distant cousin 'Mark' who no one knew...

The sudden possibility of it left him shaking. He didn't need to go back.

Inhaling sharply, he banished the thought for now and went back to finding out what Obie had done in his absence.

He was about to shut down the computer and erase all evidence of his having been there when he thought of Steve. In a flash, he had the databases up and Steve's information pulled. Spent the next hour reading through the man's impeccable, amazing, heart-breaking history as compiled by the U.S. government.

By the time he left, he had a whole new vision of the man in his head.

Tony was back home early morning, before Steve, so he had some time to decompress and fiddle with mechanics before Steve got home. And now...after talking it through, he couldn't be more certain that he didn't really want to go back. He didn't want to go back to having to constantly watch his back. Didn't want the public eye 24/7. He didn't want the responsibility of owning and operating a company. Maybe he could make stuff and send it into the patent office. Get money off of that. Sell to owners... He's still be able to help Steve out. Run a small repair shop? See, there were lots of options.

And now, after living with Peter, Clint, and Steve, he could see why he'd felt a little off-balance around Obie—Stane. The man was a snake. Knew nothing of really caring. And after seeing the boys' admiring gazes and Steve's own soft smiles, he knew why Ob—Stane's dark eyes had always seemed cold. Every smile he'd given Tony was fake. He only saw Tony as a way for the company to make more money. Tony had all the mechanical smarts as his father, all the creative license, all the make-it-happen power. But he hadn't any of the business sense, any of the discernment, or any of the character judging skills. He shuddered under the hot water, quickly soaping himself so as not to make Steve's water bill higher. Wrapping himself in the same burgundy towel he'd been using since he arrived. It was worn and a little bit rough, but he liked it better than anything he could remember.

Tony towelled himself off quickly. Shit, waxing romantic about a _towel_. Throwing on a pair of Steve's old sweats, he wandered into the kitchen and was handed a mug of tea by Steve, smiling at him over the boys' heads.

“Ma— _Tony_ ,” Peter corrected himself quickly. “Can you help me with my science homework?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said, more than willing to lose himself in something that didn't involve thinking about his current lot in life. Or talking to Steve about it. Or... Well. Middle school science homework was easy. He quickly downed half the mug even as it scalded his throat and straddled a chair. Steve wandered into the other room to... Tony didn't know what. He sat with the boys, stealing a piece of paper out of Clint's notebook to write down equations and stuff for old SI projects he'd never given a lot of serious thought to.

“Hey Tony...” Clint said quietly, eyes still trained on his math. “Are you going to leave now that you remember who you are?”

Tony sighed, figuring the question would have come sooner or later. So he went with levity. “Miss me if I were gone?”

“I would,” Peter said quietly, in that same sober tone.

He blinked at the younger boy in surprise. Then cracked a cocky grin. “You'd just miss me because I help you with your homework.”

“Then you're an idiot,” Clint muttered.

“Hey. Really? I'm the smartest man of the 21 st century.”

“Yeah, and for someone so smart, you must be pretty stupid to think that we're not gonna miss you if you're gone.”

He stared at Clint a moment. “When'd you get so smart.”

“When you weren't looking,” Clint said cheekily.

Tony laughed. “Of course, smart-ass.”

“Steve doesn't like those words,” Peter said absently, attentions back on his homework.

Snorting, Tony shifted in his chair, propping his chin in his hand. “Don't worry about it.”

“ _Don't_ ,” Clint said. He glared sharply at Tony. “Don't pull that with me.”

“Us,” Peter said sharply.

Tony frowned.

“Don't pull that casual routine, Tony. Don't pretend,” Clint whispered fiercely, eyes alight. “You can't be too different from the Mark we learned. So don't pretend that this isn't hard for you too.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Clint. I'm...”

“You don't know anything right now,” Clint interrupted him, tossing his head.

“Heh. Well. You're certainly correct about that...” he muttered before admitting, “I don't know if I'm leaving.”

Clint nodded tightly. “Fine.”

“Clint. I don't... I have...responsibilities there.” Not that he wanted them. But if he was going to leave, then the boys had to be prepared for that possibility. He was always just a temporary fixture anyway.

“And none here?” Clint countered.

“That's not...!” Tony protested weakly. “I didn't ask for this.”

“Neither did we,” Peter said quietly.

“No...no, don't team up on me,” Tony moaned. When he peeked between his fingers, Peter was grinning at him. “Okay, honestly, I'm not sure  _what_ I'm going to do. I know I've... Well. Forget you. You're making me emotional.... I like it here. You guys are...” Tony swallowed. “You guys are alright.”

“I think that's high praise,” Clint teased with a small smile.

“I'll take it,” Peter agreed, grinning. “Just... If you  _do_ decide to leave, then you'll have to visit. You have to promise you'll visit.”

“Of course I promise!” He leaned more easily on the table. “Don't think I've had enough of bossing you two around.” Clint rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, making it easier for Tony to confess, “I don't think I could leave you two behind.”

“Three,” Peter said immediately. “Steve too.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile of his own. “Steve too. You guys saved my life.”

“Mostly Steve, but yeah,” Clint muttered. “Now...Can you help me with these equations?”

Tony laughed. “Sure, Clint. Sure.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tuesday, Tony returned to the library to hack the Stark Industries video feeds. He learned that Pepper was miserable—he could read it in her face and the snappy way that she appeared to be answering people and the way she tapped her pen against her thigh almost constantly. See, he's wasn't unobservant.

Stane strutted around like a king in his castle, magnanimously (and very not-magnanimously) giving orders and instructions. He had already appropriated Tony's office. Tony thought of all the things he'd left in there and found himself suddenly furious again, the sole thought running through his head being  _MINE_ . 

It took him until Wednesday to admit that he had to go back. His people didn't deserve Stane's tyranny. Especially not good people like Pepper.

It took him until Wednesday evening, relaxing in front of the tiny TV with Steve and the boys watching Back to the Future, to realise that he couldn't leave these people behind either. There was a fierce resounding  _MINE_ echoing there too. These were the people that gave him something other than cold., and alone., and expectations.; these were the people that had shown Tony something else when he didn't even know who he was. When he didn't have anything to his name save for a (admittedly expensive bespoke) suit and a pair of (admittedly expensive imported leather) shoes. 

Wednesday night was spent imagining Steve in fine things, the gifts that he could shower him with, the things that he could give the boys. He'd not really allowed himself to think of Steve...like that...before. With all of the upheaval, he didn't particularly need to fall for the guy who was supporting him. Well. With all of the upheaval  _now_ , he didn't particularly need to be falling for the guy who was... _still_ ...supporting him. And yet... Steve was trying  _so_ hard. It was honestly a little sad. They were a little like two oppositely-poled magnets. And there was now...well there wasn't  _nothing_ , but there were certainly less obstructions between them. Less reasons to...not come together.

Tony chewed his lip, stretched out on the sofa. Craning his head back, the boys' door was shut, and the lights were off in Steve's room. He settled again, allowing himself to think of Steve that way. For just a minute. His shoulders—imagined being slung over them and carried off to bed, squirming, Steve's kind of ridiculously perfect ass right in front of him. Maybe he'd bite it. Give it a big squeeze. Look up to see Steve's neck flushing up again.

Or maybe Steve would box him in up against the door. Tony could give him his lascivious grin that always made the girls flutter their eyelashes at parties. Maybe he'd... Maybe he'd sink down to his knees, pull Steve's pants away, kiss him through those ridiculous white briefs he wore. Suck him off. All that weight over him. All that finely-trained weight coiled, trembling, falling apart because of Tony...

He grit his teeth and reached up behind him to yank some tissues out of the box that sat on the table next to the sofa and jerked himself off furiously until he came, biting on his own wrist, panting and trembling on the sofa.  


	13. Examples of Change

 Steve woke gasping with a vicious nightmare and his leg on fire.

He spent one minute burying his face into his pillow and groaning, mind a white blank of pain before he could gasp and move again. He let himself have another minute in bed to get a hold of himself before rolling out, cancelling his now-unneeded alarm, and limping heavily to the bathroom. Steve washed his face and brushed his teeth before chancing a glance at his reflection. Tired. Tired and worn. He sighed, bending until he was leaning his head on the vanity. He was exhausted. But it was a Thursday, and that meant work. He sometimes wished he weren't so constantly healthy. Then he winced, remembering a childhood of colds, flues, sinus infections, and shots and praised his health. He just didn't want to go into work.

The nightmare was probably a result of stress. Tony had been moping around the house, lost and bereft, tangled up in his own head. Steve still had no clue whether or not Tony was going to leave them. He _should_ , by all rights. But Tony had given voice to the option of staying. Last night he'd come home with steak, for Pete's sake, treating them to some excellently cooked meat. (Steve hadn't known Tony could be that capable in the kitchen.) But he didn't know if he'd made some decision, and Tony had decided to treat them either as apology for his impending departure or as celebration of his sticking around. Either way, it was stressing Steve out and now his shoulders ached from it all, leg still throbbing. He flung open the medicine cabinet and downed a couple extra-strength Tylenol and then pissed and shuffled into the kitchen to get the coffee maker going. Shuffled into the kitchen by way of the living room where Tony was sprawled attractively across his couch. He smiled indulgently and then made coffee.

The smell must have woken him, because Tony stumbled into the kitchen, lead by his nose. “Coffee...” he slurred.

Steve chuckled and reached up for a mug, filling it with the thick brew and putting it in Tony's hands.

“Coffee...” he sighed, sinking into a chair and curling over the mug. “I have missed you, my love...”

“Wow. Need a moment?” Steve asked. Some of the tension building behind his temples loosened as he leaned against the counter, watching Tony inhale the steam before slurping the coffee down.

Tony raised his head, blinking at him. “Morning, Steve.”

“Morning, Tony.”

“Work today, right?”

He nodded tightly.

Nodding back absently, Tony leaned back in the chair, fingers lacing over his belly, shirt riding up, showing Steve a bit of hip.

“Oh...” He murmured aloud, not even meaning to.

“What?” Tony looked over at him lazily, blue eyes still sleep-fuzzy and warm.

Steve smiled, flushing a bit, and shook his head. “Nothing. So—”

“I like mornings here,” Tony said.

Steve's brows flew up. He bit his tongue to force the words to stay in his mouth.

“They're...easy.”

“Tony,” Steve couldn't help saying, voice full of amusement. “Mornings are  _not_ easy.”

“No,” he waved his hand, “that's not what I meant. Not really...easy. But warm. They were never...warm. At my house.”

He bit his lip.

“Don't feel sorry for me, Steve. It's just the way things were. I think that's why...I like it so much here.”

“Are you staying?” he blurted.

Tony looked at him, a wry grin tugging up one side of his lips. “I don't think so.”

“Oh...” And tried not to look too crushed, swallowing around the loss of something else that had become important to him.

“I'm not...” Tony said quickly. “I couldn't leave for good, Steve. I don't think... you guys are important to me.”

Steve nodded, swallowing again.

“I have to...My business. I have to take care of my people,” Tony almost pleaded.

“I understand,” he rushed out. “That's why... You're a good man, Tony Stark.”

Lips twisting into something ugly for a second, Tony shook his head. “I don't think there's anyone who would classify me that way.”

“Then they're stupid.” That was childish. “They don't know you.”

Tony just laughed, a hollow sort of sound. “How are you real, Steve.”

“What?”

“You've seen... I looked you up, you know.”

He froze.

“Steve, you're amazing. I don't know how you do it. You're just...”

“Stop...!” he said brokenly, embarrassed by the cracking of his voice, just as he was embarrassed by Tony's praise. He didn't know. He couldn't understand. “Stop.” Thankfully, the boys' alarm went off and he rushed to help them get ready for school.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Steve got home from work, drained, limping worse than the morning, and hating himself a little. This had turned into a horrible mess, and nothing was making sense anymore, lease of all his feelings. He had prompted Tony not to stay, but now that it had been brought to the table, so to speak, as a possibility, he couldn't imagine him leaving. Steve leaned against the door frame a moment outside his apartment, just breathing before he could make himself go in.

Then the door opened.

“Tony,” he said tiredly.

“I heard you...” He waved a hand at the stairs. “I heard you walking.”

Steve couldn't prevent the sour twist of his mouth.

Tony rolled his eyes. “We've all got our problems, Captain.”

“Don't call me that,” he said harshly, then brushed past him wondering why it suddenly mattered. Tony had called him soldier in the past, and he hadn't blinked. Maybe it was because Tony now knew. Knew what he'd done. Knew what he'd been through. Part of it, anyway.

“Calm down,” Tony drawled, behind him. “Rough day?”

“What? Going to offer me a massage next and have this turn into—” He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes dizzy with how wide they were stretched, whipping around to stare at Tony. But Tony was just looking at him appraisingly, chin tilted up in challenge, face blank and easy.

“You want that?” he asked casually.

Steve opened his mouth, but Tony ploughed on.

“Because, you know. We've kind of been dancing around this for weeks. And while I didn't know who I was, yeah, sure, I can understand. That might be frowned upon by the greater half of society. Taking advantage and all that stuff. Though I can also tell you that I've had sex with people I didn't know before. Who didn't know me. Though that last one is pretty rare. See, I'm kind of famous. Which... you didn't know until you knew who I was. But hey. We've all got our problems.”

“Stop it.”

“So I'm asking, Steve,” Tony continued, dipping his chin down to look up at him through his lashes, “if you want to do this.”

“That's...” Steve shook his head to clear it despite the flush running through him. “Oh geeze. We can't do this now,” he said, voice higher than intended.

“So you're saying you don't want me,” Tony said, face terrifyingly blank.

“No! Why do you have to...!” Steve took a step back as Tony took a step forwards. “The boys'll be home soon, and we...we  _can't_ right now!”

“Right,” Tony murmured, now much too close to Steve. “I guess I'll just...” He rocked forwards onto his toes and pressed his lips chastely against Steve's, and then he disappeared into the rest of the apartment.

Steve sagged back against the hall, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. Shuddering slightly, he took slow deep breaths to ignore the throbbing between his legs. Dear God. This was going to be worse than he thought...

He spent the rest of the evening avoiding Tony, sketching in his room. He heard him though. Tony helped the boys with their homework while Steve played coward for this act. Sneaking to the bathroom on his still-twinging leg, he paused at Clint's question.

“Are you going to be around for Peter's birthday?”

“When's that?” Tony asked casually.

“Next week! Thursday!” Peter said excitedly. Steve could just imagine him: straightening in his chair, eyes alight with anticipation.

“Oh. Well. I don't know if I'll still be  _living_ here, but yeah. I'll definitely show up.” The grin was there in Tony's voice.

Steve snuck past the kitchen, bathroom forgotten for the moment, and into the living room to grab his laptop. Which wasn't here. Tony must have taken it. “Tony!”

“What's up?”

“Where's my laptop?”

“I've got it. Your OS sucks, you know.”

He rolled his eyes, reluctantly heading to the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I'm using it. I can't do anything about the processor, but I can update your software. Which I've already done. Free of charge. My gift.”

He grit his teeth.

“I'm also using your email.”

“Tony...” Steve did  _not_ whine.

The other man grinned. Clint and Peter grinned.

“You two,” Steve said forcefully with a finger jabbed at the two of them, “are  _not_ helping.”

Clint laughed. “Whatever, bro. You make yourself an easy target.”

“Watch it,” he said, coming to stand behind Tony's shoulder.

“Uh, no...” Tony said, pulling the lid down. “Sorry. Private business for a minute.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve threw up his hands and headed back to the bathroom, his original target in the first place. “Give it back when you're done. I need it.”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Tony called cheekily.

That wasn't so terrible...

By the time the boys were asleep, and Steve had dropped onto his bed, sheets tangled by his feet, he was exhausted all over again. Except his body was still full of too much nervous energy. He tensed at the footsteps that came down the hall.

Tony didn't say anything as he set the shutting-down lap-top on Steve's dresser and then stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt. He settled himself on the bed, right in Steve's space.

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to go to sleep. What are  _you_ doing?”

He sighed. “Trying to go to sleep.”

“Great! Let's both try to go to sleep together.”

“Tony...” he said more insistently. He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. “What were you doing?”

“Making preparations to come back to life.”

“How do you do that?” Steve asked in the same quiet tone.

“I stalled my death certificate.”

Steve suppressed his wince.

“I also sent an email, anonymously for now, to my PA, Pepper,” Tony said into the dark. “Ask her if she'd like information about my whereabouts.”

Steve nodded. “You're going about this smart.”

Tony snorted. “I have to. If I don't, then I'll get bowled over by my Deputy Director who's currently parading around my office,  _touching_ my stuff, getting his hands all over my plans for things, scaring my employees,  _changing_ things. I don't like people messing with my stuff.”

Steve smiled. “I'm glad you care so much.”

“I...” Tony paused. “I realised I couldn't leave it behind. Not in his hands. He'll ruin it. And while I may not care if he ruins something my dad built—don't make that face, Steve.”

“What face?”

“I can just tell. You're making a face. My dad was an ass. And while Stark Industries might be his legacy, I can't have Stane ruining it with his blood-thirsty hands.”

“Good,” Steve said, unsurprised to find that he meant it. “I'm glad. I'm glad you made the choice.”

“Doesn't mean I'm going to completely cut myself off from you, you know,” Tony drawled.

“I didn't think so.”

“Good,” he said in more serious tones. “Because I don't think I could.”

Steve nodded and the silence stretched between them a moment. “Good. Goodnight, Tony.”

There was another moment of pause before Tony shifted onto his side and replied, “Goodnight, Steve.”


	14. In Motion

 As soon as Steve and the boys were out of the door on Friday, Tony was at the library. Checking his email, he had a reply from Pepper. A stern reply, as he glanced through it first. He could picture her writing it, a frown on her face, that little crease between her brows appearing like she was gearing up for a lecture. He smiled.

Then read through her reply.

' _Dear sir,_

_Thank you for your interest in the disappearance of Mr. Anthony Stark. I would, of course, be interested in hearing more. It is very important to me to have him back. And, of course, there are many concerned with his safety, since his disappearance. So if you could step forward, I would be willing to meet. I would, of course, also have to verify the source of your information. You claim to know that he is alive and well. If so, why has he not come forward? Mr. Stark is a recogniseable man; however, I would like to be sure that it is, indeed, him. If you'll forgive my cautiousness. I've already had eighteen false 'Tony's' come forward. If you could reply to my questions, perhaps we might set up a meeting somewhere of your choosing for further discussion._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Pepper Potts_

_Personal Assistant to Tony Stark,_

_Stark Industries_

_[Virginia](mailto:Virginia.Potts@StarkIndustries.com)_ [ _.Potts@StarkIndustries.com_ ](mailto:Virginia.Potts@StarkIndustries.com)

_1(212)455-8222_ '

 

Tony snorted. Just like Pepper. Firm but cautious. He typed a reply out quickly.

' _Pepper,_

_Sure. Let's meet. You can decide for yourself if you think I have the right Tony Stark. And by 'have,' I don't mean holding captive or for ransom or anything like that. He didn't remember who he was; that's why he was missing for so long. But more of these details can be discussed in person. We'll meet at Leo's on 5_ _th_ _at 11:30 on Monday. Please come alone. And please don't attack me when you see me._ '

 

He waited a few minutes, monitoring his work email and the cameras and transferring some of the money he had in an off-shore account that no one knew about to a small bank account that was linked to him. That also, no one knew about. So they wouldn't be able to track his movements. So  _Stane_ wouldn't be able to track his movements. 

Ah. He had a reply.

 

' _Sir,_

_That is acceptable to me. I will come alone, except for my chauffeur. That is non-negotiable. If that is all, then I will see you Monday at 11:30 at Leo's._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Pepper Potts_

_Personal Assistant to Tony Stark,_

_Stark Industries_

_[Virginia](mailto:Virginia.Potts@StarkIndustries.com)_ [ _.Potts@StarkIndustries.com_ ](mailto:Virginia.Potts@StarkIndustries.com)

_1(212)455-8222_ '

 

Tony nodded and sat back, closing his email. Then he went by the ATM and withdrew enough money for a new suit. He stopped by a sunglasses store for a new pair of Aviators, pulling Steve's ballcap over his head.

The man at the suit shop gave him a dirty look, the look changing to confusion as Tony headed straight to the nicer quality stuff. He flipped through the racks, not having the time or patience to get something tailored. He frowned and eventually picked out a gray suit with thin light blue pinstripes. He picked out a red tie to match and then grabbed a nice pair of socks for good measure. He paid the man at the cashier who goggled at that much crisp cash before he recovered, and then strode home.

His foot paused mid-step and he almost fell over. Home. Shit. Tony ducked his head and hurried back to Steve's apartment.

He hung his suit when he got back and drowned his insecurities and worries in tearing the vacuum apart and putting it back together again.

“Tony. Tony!”

He jerked. “Uh... Hey Clint.” Dropped the screwdriver.

“Wow. I didn't know vacuum cleaners had so many inside parts.”

“When did you get home?” He blinked around for the clock. That was currently in pieces on a table across the room. Dammit.

Clint grins, amused. “About twenty minutes ago. Good thing I wasn't a thief. Where's Steve?”

“Uh...”

“Did you check the messages? Pete!” Clint called over his shoulder. “Check the messages.”

“Got it!” the younger boy called from the kitchen, the beep sounding loud in the quiet of the apartment. “Steve's going to be late because he's going out with friends for drinks,” he called, translating the muffled message.

“Oh.” Tony sighed. “Guess it's us for dinner tonight.”

“Have you thought about it more?”

He didn't bother playing stupid. “Yeah. I'm gonna... I've got to go back, Clint. They need me. There's a guy who's doing bad stuff with my company—he's a complete dick, but don't tell Steve I said that word in front of you.” He grinned as the boys snickered. “So I have to. But Pete. I'll make it to your birthday party.”

“Well, I dunno if we'll have a party.”

“What do you mean you might not have a party!”

Peter flushed. “Well, I mean that Steve's really busy and stuff. And he has work now that school's ending. So it might just be a...dinner. Thing.”

“That's a party.” Tony frowned. “Alright. Well. We'll see. I'll join you though. Make it a priority, in fact.” He caught Clint's smile of approval before it disappeared. “So. Dinner. What do we want?”

“Pizza!”

“We can do pizza,” Tony agreed. He had spare cash. He snorted. He had a lot of cash. But he had enough on him to pay the pizza guy. “Anchovies, right?”

“Ugh!” Peter and Clint chorused.

Tony laughed. “Right. Pepperoni and Sausage?”

“Mushrooms!” Peter said.

“Alright. Half mushrooms then. Stick around, small fries. I'll call. Dominoes? Pizza Hut?”

“Bertelli's,” Clint corrected. “He's not too far and delivers. And better than both Dominoes _and_ Pizza Hut.”

“Oh. I see. So this is a special place? Steve treats you every once in a while?” He grinned, pausing on his way to the kitchen.

“Maybe...” the older boy said slyly.

He snorted. “So I pay for it?”

“Well, you have been living here for free.” Clint folded his arms, chin up.

“You're a funny kid, Clint Rogers.” Tony ruffled his hair just to make him mad and then placed the call. “Alright, rugrats. Get the table ready, get placemats, napkins, get the soda. May as well make it a party!”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tony spent the night up late again, on Steve's laptop after Steve got home. He spared a second to watch him weave down the hall, limp heavier than usual, then went back to his business.

There was nothing suspicious about Stane's movements, nothing to suggest that he knew Tony was alive. His mannerisms remained the same. Everything was the same. The tension around his heart unclenched. He'd been stupid to even suspect Pepper.

Pepper was the only one who changed, he discovered, stalking the feeds from S.I. She looked more confident, the crease between her brows gone. Tony smiled.

Saturday, then, Tony was awake before Steve, had some eggs going and coffee by the time Steve groped his way to the kitchen.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tony said in a cheerful, though respectfully hushed tone.

“Something died in my mouth...”

“Just take a seat and I'll get you some coffee, Cap. If there's one thing I know well, it's hangovers.”

Steve eased himself gingerly into a kitchen chair. “Can I die now?”

“Nope. You've got work in a few hours. No puking in the kitchen, either.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head to the table.

Humming quietly, Tony finished breakfast and set a plate before Steve. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Tony. This is a godsend.” He picked up the fork and ate slowly. “I...oh wow. This is good.”

Tony grinned. “Cheers.”

“So...” Steve asked after a few minutes. “What's the plan?”

“Well. I'm meeting with Pepper on Monday. Alone.”

Steve frowned.

“I'll be fine. Don't worry. Pepper's on my side. She's always been on my side.” Even if he hadn't realised it.

“Well so has this other guy from the sound of it.”

Tony waved the comment away. “Obi—Stane's always had his own agenda. But,” he conceded, “he's good at playing the sympathetic, I-know-what's-best-for-you role. And I never thought to distrust him because he's always been there for me.”

“Oh Tony—”

“No, don't 'Oh Tony' me; you're hungover. No sympathy for other people until you feel like a human being.”

“I  _do_ feel like a human being. Just...not a very good one. Or alive one.”

“So you're a zombie? Great. A zombie in my kitchen. Did you take the Advil? No?” Tony got up and grabbed it off the counter to set in front of Steve.

“You are one of a kind, Tony Stark,” Steve said, popping the Advil.”

“I try,” Tony sat and wrapped his hands around his mug, watching Steve finish up. Trying to ignore the warmth niggling his heart. Steve was a good guy. Like golden-boy good guy. Teacher's pet, most-popular-kid-in-school-but-doesn't-realise-it good guy. He smiled. He didn't deserve someone as great as Steve. Captain Planet Extraordinaire. “Hey. Let's go out tomorrow.”

“Out?”

“Yeah. You, me, Clint, and Pete. We'll go out. Wherever you want. Have some fun. See the city. My treat.” He leaned back in his chair, feeling indulgent.

“What? No. Tony—”

“I want to. And let me tell you. I can be pretty damn stubborn. So you won't win this. I promise. I'd enlist the boys. And if you won't go, the boys and I will go out and have a great time.” He watched, pleased, as the smile was drawn out on Steve's lips.”

“I can be stubborn too, Tony. But okay. That sounds like fun. We'll make a day of it.”

“Great. You make the plans, I'll provide the dough.”

Steve snorted. “Classy.”

“I aim to be.” He grinned back at Steve.  


	15. Adventurekind

 Tony did as promised. Steve planned a trip to Central Park. Tony paid for everything. The cab there. Food. Souvenirs. All in cash.

They wandered through the park to an open area. Tony flopped down on the grass. “This is nice.”

Steve nodded and sat next to him. “Yeah. Thanks a lot, Tony.”

He snorted. “This is me owing you, Steve.”

“Thanks anyway!” Peter said with a grin.

Clint somersaulted down onto the grass. “It's different.”

“I'll take that as a 'thank you,'” Tony drawled.

“Take it however you want,” Clint replied.

“Oh Clint. How I'll miss your sweet pleasant nature.”

They all fell silent as if realising the implications of Tony's statement. Steve bit his lip, watching the clouds change across the sky.

“You guys suck, you know that,” Tony said suddenly.

“What?” Clint cried, first to react to the outrage.

“Here I was, having a nice time, and you have to make it all serious and shirt.”

“Language, Tony,” Steve said automatically.

“Forget you.” There were rustling noises as Tony shifted in the grass.

Steve turned his head to see Clint looking at him. Clint grinned and wagged his fingers before pointing at Tony. Steve grinned and nodded. Rolling over, he got to his good knee and counted down from three. He and Clint pounced. Steve went for Tony's ribs and Clint pinned his shoulders.

“What the—aah!” Tony squirmed away from Steve's fingers, eyes wide as he tried not to laugh. His breath came in aborted pants. “Wai—no—I— _Steve—_ ”

Peter threw himself across Tony's legs.

“No—I'm gonna—stop—” Tony howled, face turning red as he broke and giggled, jerking in the grass.

Steve laughed as Tony got a hand up and dug into Clint's ribs.

“Nnga! Not fair!” Clint yelled, falling back.

“Rally, soldier,” Steve barked with a grin.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, curling into himself and grabbing Steve's wrists. “'Nough...can't...breathe...!”

Letting himself be quelled, Steve flopped back onto the grass. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun soaking into his dark blue t-shirt.

“Well that was fun,” Peter said after they'd all more-or-less caught their breaths.

“For you,” Tony groused.

Steve snickered.

“Oh right. Encourage torture, Steve! Good role model you are!”

“Steve's a great role model,” Clint said smugly.

Steve bit his lip as his eyes burned suddenly.

Tony sighed heavily. “Yeah... Anyway. I'm taking you guys to dinner. There's this burger joint. It's my favourite place. Burgers like you've never had before. It'll spoil burgers for you for the rest of your life.”

“Huh. You like burgers,” Peter asked.

“Do I— _Peter_ . Burgers are my favourite. Remember,” Tony said, throwing him a look. “I am the connoisseur of burgers. I am the sommelier of burgers.” 

“Well, I just... I mean. You're rich, right? I thought you might like...fancier food.”

Steve winced at Peter's question, but Tony went on. “Burgers can be fancy, Pete. But these burgers are thick and juicy and perfect. Shut up, Clint.”

“Okay,” Steve said to stave off the argument. “Is it far?”

“Little bit of a walk, but we should get going in the next twenty if we want a booth.”

“Do we want a booth?” Peter asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They fall into a silence again, resting. Watching the clouds. Tony's warmth next to him. It was peaceful. Afghanistan was very far away. Steve let his eyes shut, the sunlight bleeding everything red. It was something he could get used to. If they had more time. Steve had no doubts about Tony intending to stay in contact. He even believed he'd come for Peter's birthday dinner on Thursday. But Tony owned a business and he'd be quite busy when he got back from 'missing or dead.' He wouldn't have time for them. Especially not like this. To just...be. And when he was done re-inserting himself into his life, it wouldn't be in Tony's habits to hang out with two orphans and an art student.

“Shit!” Tony exclaimed, jarring Steve out of his thoughts.

“What's wrong?” he demanded.

“My phone! It's a the bottom of the river!”

Steve sighed and relaxed again. “I'm sure you can get a new one, Tony.”

“No! You don't understand! That was a fifth gen Stark phone!” He groaned, sitting, blocking Steve's sun. “Second gen is currently on the market right now. Craaaaaaaaap.... I'm going to have to remake the entire thing!”

“Will that be hard?” Clint asked.

“Well, I've got the plans in my head. And all of the information on the phone is backed up to a satellite at the end of each day. And the phone is waterproof.”

“So...basically it's fine?” Clint asked.

Peter snorted. “Dummy. Just fish it out of the river.”

Steve laughed. Couldn't help it. Just laughed.

“Whoops. You broke Steve,” Tony said.

Steve cackled, rolling onto his side.

“And that's our signal to back away slowly,” Tony said, voice full of amusement.

“No wait...! I'm good...” Steve panted. With one last giggle, he got up. “Okay. We going to your burger place?”

“Oh yeah.”

And it was good. It was everything Tony promised. Tony watched on with glee as they ate, moaning softly as they took their first bites. Once they admitted the supremacy of Roadhouse Burgers, Tony tucked in to his own.

“Well, that hit the spot,” Clint said, once they were finished, bill paid, final drink refills accepted.

“I don't think I'll eat for the rest of the week,” Peter groaned, patting his pushed out stomach.

“Really? Here I was thinking ice cream for dessert...” Tony said with a wink at Steve.

“Really?” Peter sucked himself back in and sat up straight, bouncing a little in his chair.

“Maybe...” Tony said casually.

“I'm not full! I can eat more!” Peter replied eagerly.

Steve laughed. “Okay. Let's go then. Clint?”

“I never say no to ice cream.”

“This way,” Tony said once they were outside. “It looks like a dump, but they have the best pina colada milksha—”

“Ha! Fags and their mini-fags.”

Steve froze. Tony turned to look at him and shook his head, opening his mouth to say something cutting, no doubt, to the threesome of guys that just walked past. Steve beat him to it. “Beg your pardon?”

One of the guys turned and gave him a derisive once-over.

“Know what, screw you you and your mom,” Tony said coldly. “Who cares if I like hot dick in my ass. At least I have to brain cells to rub together. Between the three of you, you hardly have a whole one.”

Steve winched, catching Clint and Peter's wide-eyed, slack-jawed stares. “Tony...” he hissed. “Now is  _really_ not a good time to do this...”

“What? Doesn't matter. These three chicken shits are too scared to get near us anyway. Afraid they'll catch 'the gay,'” he snorted arrogantly.

Which was, of course, trigger for the three of them to turn and charge Tony. “Don't move,” Steve ordered the boys, pushing them against the brick wall. “Tony!”

Tony ducked out of the way, ending up being shoved into Steve.

“Idiot,” he said fondly, steadying him before stopping in front of the three guys. “Final warning. Leave us alone or you'll regret it.” He ducked a punch from one of the guys with a sigh. “Yeah. I know. That never works.” He pivoted around one guy, grabbing his arm and twisting until his face was mashed into the side of the building. A quick jab and he was down. Tony was swinging at one of the other guys when he turned around. Apparently he'd had  _some_ training.

Steve hooked his foot around of the other guys' ankles and flipped him over his shoulder. Tony got shoved at him again, so he grabbed his forearm and used his moment to swing Tony right back around at the last guy. Who wobbled from Tony's well-timed suckerpunch and went down when Steve reached around and boxed his ears.

“Wow,” Tony said, eyes wide, face flushed. “That was...”

“Awesome!” Peter yelled, running over.

Clint followed him, kicking the guy who was trying to stand.

“Awesome,” Tony breathed. “ _Steve_ . That was...hot.”

Steve flushed. “Violence isn't attractive.”

“No, but you... Your movements were...! Steve! You have to teach me!”

“Tony, no, I—”

“I have to be able to defend myself! What if I'm kidnapped?”

Steve laughed. “Later. Do we still want ice cream?”

“We're going for ice cream,” Tony decided with a grin. “I've worked up an appetite again! Come on.”

Steve shook his head, trailing behind the three most important people to him, listening half-heartedly to their praise of his skill and 'awesome.'  


	16. On the Up and Up

 Steve, Tony decided, was irrefutably gorgeous. Of course he knew that already. That fact could hardly be avoided in an apartment as small, as _cosy_ , as Steve's. However, the line between knowing and _knowing_ was a pretty definite one. One he had now unerringly crossed.

He slept in Steve's bed, warm, tucked against Steve's side, Sunday night. Because. PSTD. And Steve slept better when Tony slept with him.

He tried not to analyse that one too much.

And, if Tony were to admit it aloud, which he wouldn't, he slept better when he slept in Steve's bed too. With Steve. Mostly because Tony actually slept. Maybe because Steve was warm where the river had been breath-stealingly cold.

Monday he lingered in bed until the boys were out the door before getting up.

“I'm going to meet Pepper today,” he said as he sat down to a bowl of cereal with Steve.

“Want me to come? I'm done with classes. I'm free,” Steve offered.

He shook his head. “No. I should go alone. Pepper's just bringing Happy.”

“And...who's that?”

“Oh. My chauffeur. He used to be a boxer.”

“He the one that taught you a few things?”

Tony blinked. “Yeah. How'd you know?”

Steve shrugged, ever humble. “You punched like you knew how.”

He nodded. “Cool. Seems like I did learn something after all. Well yeah. How's your leg?”

“It's fine.”

“I mean after the fight.”

Steve huffed, the soldier showing through. “That was hardly a fight.”

Tony grinned. “No.” He leaned forward suddenly and kissed Steve, solid, close-mouthed, “For good luck” before standing and heading to Steve's room to get dressed. He got halfway there before Steve's hurried limp caught up, and he was pressed hard against the wall and kissed until he couldn't breath. “We doing this? Are we doing this?”

Steve kissed him again.

Tony moaned, wondering briefly is Steve was a mind-reader and knew all about Tony's fantasies. Hands settling at Steve's waist, Tony held on a minute before sliding them up over Steve's chest. He pulled back to breathe, pressing kisses along Steve's offered jaw.

“Tony...”

“Jesus, you have the worst timing...” he groaned, pulling Steve flush against him. God this was perfect.

“You kissed me,” Steve accused, biting on his earlobe. His hands swooped down to circle behind Tony's back.

“Yes. Yes I did,” he said smartly. They stayed there a minute, Tony panting against Steve's neck, Steve against Tony's temple. Then Steve took a measured step back.

“Okay. Go. Go get dressed.”

Tony leaned forward to give him a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Right.”

When he left Steve's room, Steve was waiting for him in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. His jaw fell slack as he looked to Tony. “Wow...”

“I look okay?”

“Wow. You. Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat. “In case that first 'wow' wasn't indicative... You look great. Very professional. Nice.”

“Thanks, Steve,” he drawled, passing a hand over his chin. “I miss my goatee though.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well. You look younger without it.”

“Not an advantage in the boardroom.” He readjusted his cuffs. “The cab should be here soon.”

“Got everything you need?” Steve was still staring at him.

“Wits, brains, winning smile? Yup.” The phone rang. Tony dove for it. “Hello? You're out front? Excellent. Be right down.” He put the phone down and gave Steve a weak grin. “Wish me luck.”

“You don't need luck,” Steve said solemnly. “You're Tony Stark.” Then bent close to kiss him gently. “Be careful though.”

Tony nodded and was out the door. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on his leg on the way over and settled himself. He was early. But he wanted it that way. Just in case. He was out of sight when Pepper arrived—exactly on time. Her special talent. No matter how much traffic there was, or what emergency there was, Pepper Potts was where she was supposed to be, on time.

She was alone, save for Happy, who was at her right shoulder looking damn intimidating. He grinned. Sauntered up to her table and dropped into a chair and flicked his Aviators up. “Heya Pep.”

She gasped and fumbled her phone, Happy tensing up behind her.

“How are you?” he asked with a calculated laissez-faire.

“To... _Tony_ !?” She stared. Happy's jaw hung loose.

“Alive and well. How's business?”

“Terrible! Tony, where  _were_ you?!” She lunged across the table, grabbing his hand like she needed to touch him to make sure he was real. Maybe she did.

“I didn't remember who I was, Pepper. I told you that. In the email?”

She shook her head and then slapped him.

“What the hell!” The angle wasn't good so it didn't particularly hurt that badly, just smarted.

“We thought you were dead! Mr. Stane—”

“Tried to have me killed,” he said harshly.

She reeled back as if  _she_ had been slapped. “Oh my God!”

“Now can you see why I've been careful. He's stealing my business. And he tried to cut me out. Get rid of me because I wanted to get rid of the weapons department.”

“You sent me that email.” Her eyes narrowed as she realised. “Tony Stark, you didn't trust me.”

“I had to... I had to be careful,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I do trust you, Pepper. You're one of the only people I can trust.”

Her lips lessened their disappointed purse. “Where have you been?”

“Oh God. Pep. You should see this place,” he joked. “Oh hey, Happy. Good to see you. Sit down, man. It's a tiny little apartment in Manhattan. Tiny. And I—”

“Tony,” she interrupted gently. “I'm assuming you have a plan.”

He nodded. “I just remembered everything recently. I had to do some research once I remembered. See what's going on. You know. Get the whole scope. And Obie's rotten.”

“I knew that.”

He shook his head. “To the core, Pep. To the core. And I need to get him  _out_ . I can't have him ruin my business this way. And he's treating everyone like crap. And that's not okay either. He fired Durgham! I  _liked_ Durgham. Only guy in R &D who was worth what I paid him. We'll get him back if someone else hasn't scooped him up.”

Pepper smiled. “Okay. So what's your plan.”

“I need proof of this stuff. So I'm going to rely on you to get some of the hard copy paperwork that I need. Anything digital, and I can pull it off the servers. All of my code is still the same so my passwords haven't been changed. I got footage of these two guys that Ob—Stane met with. They're the ones that tried to kill me and dumped me over the side of a bridge.”

Pepper shuddered. “I'm so sorry, Tony.”

“Why? Is it your fault?” He waved a hand and tipped his Aviators down again for anonymity. “I was drunk, they got a drop on me. Now, my testimony won't be taken seriously unless I can find some evidence that they're the specific guys that got me, not some drunken smearing of two events into one another. Getting their priors should help somewhat. But I've got most of that figured out. I made a list, burn it when you're done, of file numbers that I need as evidence.” He slid a piece of paper across the table.

“How very James Bond of you.” But Pepper secreted the piece of paper away anyway with a flair that even James Bond would have been envious of.

“Well, you know me, Pep.” Tony gave her a tight grin.

“Tony. I know you as well as you allow me to,” she countered indulgently. “But!” She held up a finger. “I will, of course, do this for you. Now when are you coming back.”

“I don't know. Soon,” he promised. “Really soon. I just have to be sure... I have to have all the pieces in place so I can get rid of Stane. I want him behind bars, Pepper. And then I don't want him anywhere near me or near my company.”

“Of course not. He's clearly dangerous. And he's obviously a terrible person. The latter,” she said with a sharp grin, “I already knew of course.”

“I didn't...” he muttered, crossing his legs and looking down at the terrace.

“Oh Tony. That doesn't make you... I don't even know what you're thinking, but it's not a bad thing that you saw the good in Obadiah Stane.”

“Except that there is none, Pepper,” he snapped bitterly. “He's a cold-hearted, manipulative bastard who used me to get more out of Stark Industries. And I want it back.”

“Of course. And I'll help you.”

“I'll help too, where I can, boss,” Happy piped in.

Tony grinned at that. “Great. Awesome. Thanks. Okay. I've got to jet. I'm sure one of the reasons they think me dead is because my GPS on my phone still places me at the bottom of the river I fell into. So... I'm not going to get my phone back quite yet.”

“I wouldn't dive into those rivers if I had to,” Happy said with an expression of disgust.

“Right. Well. I wouldn't. I have someone else do it. But anyway. I'll get a phone, Pep, and then give the number to you somehow.”

“Feels all very secret agent,” she said with a smile.

“I know.” Tony grinned and stood. “Well. This has been great. I'll have someone for you to meet. You know. Later.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “You're good to me, Miss Potts.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” She stood as well, Happy rising to stay at her shoulder. “And you'll have to explain what you mean by 'meet someone.' But we can save that for another time, I expect.”

“Right. Anyway. Later!” Tony hurried away and hailed a cab back to Steve's apartment by way of one of those stores that looked like they would carry a pay-as-you-go phone. Fiddling with it on the rest of the trip, Tony sighed. He'd have to take it apart. It was crap, of course. But it could be fixed.

Steve was waiting for him when he got back. Sitting at the kitchen table, he was sketching, a mug of something at his elbow. “How was it?” he demanded, rising as soon as Tony entered and limping towards him.

“Fine.” He smiled. “It was fine.”

“So you have a plan?”

“Steve. Of course I have a plan.”

Steve smiled. “Well. I don't know if you're the type of guy to 'have a plan.'”

“I always have at least five. And two for back up, and at least seven more that are hardly viable options.”

Laughing, Steve moved into his space, eyes roving over him like he was just checking that he was fine.

“Seriously. I'm fine. Pepper is on my side, and we're gathering evidence against O—Stane. He's going to go to jail, and there's no way he'll be able to wriggle out of it. In fact, I think I'm going to go to the library and see if I can hack his bank account.”

“You can do that?” Steve looked alarmed.

“Only because I'm very, very smart, and I've known O—Stane for a long time. Also, I'm very smart.”

“And so humble,” Steve said, resting a hand tentatively at Tony's waist.

Tony grinned. “Steve. You know me by now. I am always on top of things.”

Steve frowned at him like he could read the lie.

“No, don't give me that face. I don't want to deal with hard things right now. Just let me be happy that my meeting with Pepper went well.” Tony relaxed into Steve's touch, resting a hand on his forearm. “How did you get so muscular as an artist?”

“Military, remember? You kind of need some strength to handle the equipment and to keep up with your unit and the demands,” Steve said wryly.

“Oh yeah. I forgot.”

“I wasn't always like this. You should have seen me when I was a teenager. I was tiny. Couldn't gain muscle mass for the life of me.”

He grinned again. “Well, I'll tell you what else you need strength to handle...”

Steve flushed delightfully.

“Steve, you ever been to Paris?” Tony asked, leaning into Steve's space to breathe him in.

“No, but I've been to Afghanistan.”

“I could take you to France. See the Louvre. You're an artist, right? You'd like that?” Tony breathed, sliding his hands up Steve's chest. “Wanna go cuddle?”

Steve huffed. “Tony, I don't think...” Steve took Tony's hands in his own, taking a step back.

“Steve...! I'm all keyed up! Let's make out like teenagers!”

Steve hesitated still, not meeting Tony's eyes.

“Steve?” Tony asked gently. “What's the matter?”

“I just think...”

“Well. Out with it.” This was a sign of things Not. Good. Tony shoved the panicking down. “Steve...” he warned.

“No. I was just thinking that with all this stuff going on... I'll be a distraction, Tony, and you don't nee—”

“Oh for fuck's sake... You could not be more cliché, Steve. Whatever you're thinking, I'm sure it's baseless,” he said all in the rush of his relief.

“You don't need to worry about owing me anything, Tony,” Steve replied gently.

“Trust me,” he assured Steve, stepping into his space again, “I'm not doing this out of any misplaced sense of obligation, debt, or Stockholm Syndrome.”

Laughing, Steve shook his head. “It's fine. I just want you to be sure you know—”

“God, no wonder you joined the military,  _Steve_ . I'm not going to drop you as soon as I'm gone.”

Steve's gaze finally softened and lost it's worried shadows. “Sure, Tony.”

“You still don't believe me,” Tony murmured, hurt sparking through him. He leaned forward to kiss Steve before he could say anything else. Steve was hesitant this time, slow to respond. Tony kissed him slow and soft until Steve relaxed against him. He guided Steve backwards until his back bumped the wall and Tony could lean against him. Steve made a little noise, prompting Tony to lean harder.

Steve's hands gripped his hips before sliding around to palm Tony's ass and pull him flush.

“Oh geeze,” he panted, breaking the kiss.

“Tony...” Steve murmured, pressing kisses to his temple, the line of his cheek, the hinge of his jaw.

“You're so good,” Tony said. “I'm glad you found me...” He looked up as Steve started shaking. “Steve?”

Holding him close, Steve dropped his head onto Tony's shoulder, laughter bubbling up.

“Steve?” Tony frowned, rubbing his hands up the other man's arms.

“You know...” Steve snickered. “When I found you?”

“What?” Tony blinked.

“When I found you,” Steve said, leaning back to meet Tony's eyes. He grinned, his own twinkling with an amusement and mischief Tony found incredibly sexy. “I thought you were some sort of hooker.”

“What?!” Tony shrieked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What?”

“You asked if you had gone home with me! You were drunk! You were dressed to seduce—”

“It was a  _tux_ !”

“—Your shirt was see through! Because it was wet. But still! And you slurred 'no hospital' even though I should have taken you anyway, and you weren't in a great area of town—hookers have died there before! You didn't have any ID. And you said something about remembering a butt—though that might have been mine if you woke while I was carrying you home...” he trailed off, bright red.

Tony stared at him a minute. “Okay. I can  _kind of_ see your point... If you've a creative imagination...” Then smiled. “How about lunch. Or did you already eat?”

“I already ate, but I'll sit with you.”

“Okay.” Tony pressed a kiss to his lips. “I'm going to go change.”

Steve nodded and let him go.

Wandering down to Steve's room, Tony couldn't help sparing a moment, despite the upcoming troubles to feel like the luckiest person in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have lovely art now on chapters 4,8, and 9! Check it out! :)


	17. Happy Birthday

 Tony got in touch with Pepper again by Wednesday. She had the files ready, so Tony had them meet in a music store. It wasn't necessary, and judging by Pepper's amused twist of her mouth she knew it too, but they may as well go all the way for an information hand-off.

“And he still doesn't suspect anything?” he asked, browsing the AC/DC albums.

“Of course not, Tony.”

“Good. Heya, Happy.”

“Good to see you again, boss.”

“Miss me?” he asked carelessly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don't flatter me now.”

“Course not, boss,” Happy said with a cheeky grin. “I'll be glad to see you back.”

Blinking at him, Tony smiled for lack of another response. “You guys are the best.”

“Yes, Tony,” Pepper said gently. “Any idea when you're coming back? And are you secure where you're staying.”

“I dunno. Maybe Friday? Tomorrow's Pete's birthday, and I promised I'd be there.”

“Pete? Who—”

“He's the half-brother of the guy I'm staying with,” Tony said quickly. “I have to be there.” He didn't look at Pepper. And he didn't thrum his fingers on his leg either while he flipped through Aerosmith.

“Okay,” Pepper said finally. “That's fine. But you're going to have to come back right after that because I think Stane's working on something.”

Scowling, Tony nodded. “I know. I'm keeping tabs. Don't worry, Pepper. I've got it under control. I've got all—no. Okay. _Most_ of my focus on this.”

Pepper pushed a The Clash CD into the edge of his vision.

“Oh! Sweet.” He took it, but Pepper didn't let go. He looked up and met her gaze.

“I can see you're serious, Tony. I'm proud of you.” Pepper smiled. It was (one of) the best feelings in the world. “I'll wait to hear from you again. Be careful. And take care. You look good. Well rested.”

“Steve sleeps better when I sleep,” he muttered, pulling the released CD close.

“Steve?”

“That's who I'm staying with. You'll meet him. He's great.” He tried not to let his voice soften too much, but when he met Pepper's eyes again, her gaze was warm with understanding.

“Okay. I won't pry. Just...be careful. Please Tony.”

“He was kind to me before he knew who I was. He had no clue who I was,” he defended.

“Okay. That's fine. I'm not judging.”

“Don't worry, Pep. He didn't take advantage of an amnesiac. He's a much better man than me,” he drawled, meandering towards the classical section. He'd seen some Mendelssohn on Steve's computer. And not much else. Clearly, the man would have to be educated.

“Right. You're not going to be believing anything I say right now, apparently,” Pepper said, exasperated. “But I believe in you, Tony, and whatever...happened, it's a good change. So. Take care of yourself. And keep in touch.” She turned and headed for the door, plucking Happy's jacket on the way by.

“Huh.” He watched them go a minute before finding a 25 Classical Favourites CD that seemed to be something Steve would like. He paid and then left, walking to find another couple of stores that had what he needed: blank CDs (to copy all of his evidence onto), a professional-looking folder (for the presentation of such information to the police), a good quality microscope for Peter's birthday, a pair of new sneakers for Clint, and a portable CD player for Steve. As well as Billy Joel's Greatest Hits and Josh Groban. Steve would probably like Josh Groban. And Robin Hood: Men in Tights for them to watch when they had the time. Who didn't like Men in Tights?

Whistling in the cab on the way back to Steve's, Tony couldn't help but feel pleased. For the first time in his life, things were good. Things were going well. Tony hadn't even thought of drinking. Not that Steve tended to keep anything in the apartment anyway. But he didn't need it. The temptation wasn't even there. Forgetting had been almost like a vacation he didn't know he needed. He'd been relaxed. He smiled. He'd been good. And things were looking better. He was going to get his business back. He had Steve. Pepper was at his back.

Tony paid the cabbie and hoisted the stuff he bought, planning how to sneak it in past Steve. He'd hide it under his suit in the closet. Steve's closet. He dragged everything up the stairs, pausing to listen for Steve's moments in the apartment before he opened the door. As soon as he entered, he called, “Steve?”

“In here,” he said from the living room.

“Okay. Be right with you.” Tony skirted through the kitchen with his bags and tiptoed down to Steve's room. He changed while he was there, feeling freer in the sweats and overlarge t-shirt that smelled like Steve. “Hey,” he said, dropping onto the couch next to Steve.

“How's the mysterious Pepper?” Steve looked up from his computer.

“She's not so mysterious. You'll meet her. Don't worry. Whatcha doing?”

“Checking emails.”

“Mm.” Tony leaned against Steve's arm, watching the screen. “Can I take you guys out to dinner tonight?”

“What? No. It's my thing. I'm going to make dinner.”

“Can I help?'

Steve sent him a sweet smile. “I'd like that.”

“What are you going to make?”

“I was planning on steak. As a treat. Yes? No?”

Tony smiled against Steve's bicep. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“Everything went okay?” Steve asked quietly, closing out of his email.

“Yeah. Great.”

Steve shifted Tony off his arm, pulling away to look at him.

Tony smiled. “Seriously, Steve. Everything is great.”

“You're 'missing.'”

“There's nothing wrong with me missing. Anyway. I'm about to be publicly 'found.' And compiling evidence against Stane. And going to get my business back, able to run it how I want. And...” he hesitated. “And I have support. From people who care about me.” He let the 'right?' hover unspoken.

“Absolutely,” Steve said warmly.

He relaxed a bit and returned Steve's smile. “So see? Looking up!”

Rolling to his feet, Steve padded towards the kitchen. “Steak, potato casserole, and apple pie for dessert.”

“Like any red-blooded American,” Tony grinned.

“Yes. Well.”

“I once had the best apple pie,” Tony said, following him. “Ironically, it was in China. Might have been some of those weird spices. Are you gonna make that too?”

“Yup!”

“Wow. You do the shopping already?” Tony hovered in the doorway.

“Yup. While you were out. Come wash your hands. Let's get started.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tony was covered in flour by the time the pie was in the oven. He'd cut his fingers twice slicing apples, stubbed his toe trying to catch a falling steak. The steak was admirably recovered with no detrimental side effects.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such fun.

The boys arrived home just as everything was in the oven. While Steve asked after their days, Tony ducked into Steve's room to wrap Peter's microscope up in the bag and newspaper Steve he'd lifted from the living room. He hid it in the living room, bouncing back to the kitchen, grinning. He couldn't wait to see Peter's face.

Sam and his girlfriend arrived, and then it was a party. Tony squirmed through most of dinner, starting the singing in an obnoxious voice when Steve brought out the pie. Sans candles. But that was fine. You didn't really want candles on a pie anyway.

Peter grinned from ear to ear.

When the dishes were in the sink, bellies full, Tony jumped up and lead the charge into the living room. “Present time!”

“Yay!” Peter shouted, Steve limping after them.

“Me first!” Tony grabbed his gift and threw himself into the sofa between Steve and Jenny. Peter sat across from him, squirmy and excited on the floor. “Here.”

Peter ripped the half-assed wrapping apart and let out a gasp. “Tony! This is...!”

Steve gave Tony a sharp look he half caught in his peripherals. He was more interested in Peter's wide-eyed expression of delight.

“Tony, thank you,” Peter said reverently. He dug into the cardboard to open the box.

“Tony! Those are expensive!” Steve hissed.

“No, they're not,” he said absently.

“This is awesome!” Peter exclaimed.

After another moment of watching Peter coo over his new microscope, Sam leaned forward. “Well, it's not much, Pete, but this is from me and Jenny.”

Peter accepted the small gift with a wide smile. “Thanks, Sam!” Tearing the paper more carefully than Tony's package, Peter held it up. “Cool!”

“What is it?” Steve and Tony chorused. They shared a look. Then a smile.

“It's an Arachnid-Man wallet! He's my favourite!”

“Arachnid-Man?” Steve said, an adorable crease of confusion between his brows.

“Superhero, Steve. Get with the times,” Tony said with a grin.

“Thank you, Sam,” Peter said.

“Alright. My turn,” Steve said softly. “Happy birthday, Peter.” He grabbed a neatly-wrapped package from next to the sofa.

“Thanks, Steve.” He accepted the thing solemnly and carefully unwrapped it. “Wowwwww...”

“I wanna see,” Tony said, leaning forward.

Turning the canvas, Peter beamed above it. It was Peter. In some sort of paint, done by Steve, obviously. Peter was bent over some work, looking intense and smart for an eleven-now twelve year-old.

“Wow, Steve...” Tony breathed.

“Man, that looks...” Sam echoed, trailing off into a low whistle. Jenny leaned forward and murmured her amazed admirations.

Looking over, Steve's face was bright red. “It's not... It's a gift for Peter. Not about me.”

“But it's your art, Steve. It looks amazing,” Tony said, Sam murmuring his agreement.

“Thanks, Steve,” Peter said.

“You're welcome,” Steve replied, pleased.

“My turn,” Clint said. He lobbed a small package to his brother, then grinned.

Peter grinned and ripped it open.

“Clint!” Steve exclaimed as Peter held up the small pocket knife.

“Coooooool!” Peter flicked it open with the ease of one having done it before.

Tony held back his grin, watching Steve's glare at Clint in a way that said 'there will be a discussion about this later.'

“Thanks, Clint,” Peter said.

“No prob, bro.” Clint leaned back in his chair smugly.

“Problem,” Steve grumbled.

“How about a game of cards?” Tony suggested quickly before anything could turn into an argument. “You've got to have cards, yeah?”

“I have cards.” Steve got up and dug around in a drawer, pulling out two decks.

“Egyptian rat screw,” Peter sing-songed.

“Okay by me,” Jenny said. She scooted to the floor next to Peter.

“That's because you always win,” Sam said.

“We'll see.” Tony grinned and knelt in front of the coffee table, revelling in the sense of  _family_ .

 


	18. Best Served Cold

 Once Sam and Jenny left, Tony grabbed Clint's arm and dragged him to Steve's room while Steve did the dishes and Peter played with his gifts. (He'd discovered a 20 tucked into the wallet.)

“What?” Clint tried to pull away.

“Shh... Got a treat for you,” Tony said with a grin.

Clint's eyes lit up. “What?”

“I don't want to...take away from Peter's excitement, so this is between us, 'kay?” He paused out front of Steve's room, searching Clint's face.

The kid grinned, sharp. “I'm good at keeping secrets.”

“That...does not make me feel better. Okay. C'mere. I got you something.”

“Because you're leaving?” Clint frowned at the floor.

“I'm not leaving, Clint,” Tony said quickly. “Well. I  _am_ leaving. But I'm not going away. I'll be in the same city. We're close. You're my pal. Right?”

He gave Tony a reluctant smile. “Yeah.”

“Good. So...” Tony dragged the bag out of the closet and gave it to Clint. “I noticed your kicks are pretty old.” He felt proud of himself for paying attention to Clint's yearning stares at the new Puma sneakers in windows, on feet, in catalogues.

“You didn't,” Clint whispered, wide-eyed.

Tony flourished the box, perched on the edge of Steve's bed.

“Tony, man...” Clint folded himself to the floor and opened the box reverently. They lay there, nestled in their tissue, sleek and black with silver accents. Clint picked on up, turning it over. “These are great...”

“Good,” Tony sighed in relief.

Clint looked up. Searched his face. “I hope you don't disappear. Peter really looks up to you. And Steve's dumb with love sometimes. And I... I think you're alright. For a disgustingly rich guy who sometimes forgets who he is.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Clint. You guys aren't so bad either. For kids.”

Clint smirked. “Cool. Thanks, Tony.” He stood.

Tony followed suit, frowning as Clint shuffled closer. “What.”

“Hug, bro.” Then Clint wrapped his arms around Tony's middle and squeezed him tight for a minute.

Tony's hands hovered a moment before patting Clint on the back. “Thanks,” he said gruffly.

Clint stepped away. “You'll have to practise that.”

“What? Hugging?” Tony said, still dumb with emotion and surprise.

“Duh. That was just awkward.” But his cheeks were red.

“I know how to hug just fine!” he protested, folding his arms across his chest.

“Prove it,” Clint challenged.

Tony glared but moved in and enfolded Clint in his arms and tucked him close. Which lasted for about half a second before he squirmed away.

“Ew! God. Ew! Tony! That's...” Clint shuddered. “That's how you hug a lover, not a friend! Ew!”

Tony shrugged. “Well, I—”

“Clint! Tony!” Steve called. “Where'd you go?”

Clint ducked out of the room and caught up to Tony in the short hall, sans shoes.

“Need help, Cap?” Tony asked.

“No,” Steve said. “I'm all finished now.”

“Cool,” Tony said, ignoring the jab. “I've got a movie for us to watch. Robin Hood Men in Tights?”

“What,” Clint whined immediately. “That sounds gay!”

“It is. And it's  _great_ ,” Tony said. He flashed a sharp grin at Clint, who glowered back.

“Fine,” Steve said. “I'm tired. That sounds easy.”

“Great. Peter, you're with me; we're making popcorn. Clint, between you and Steve, you guys can get the movie set up?”

“I think we'll get it,” Steve said, catching the smooth toss of the film from Tony.

“Good birthday?” Tony asked Pater as the popcorn got started in the microwave.

“It was great. Considering.”

“Yeah. Your parents.”

Peter nodded.

“You miss 'em.”

Peter nodded again. “You miss yours?”

“Yes. No. Sometimes. I was a bad son,” he said quietly, thinking back to lonely dinners and lonelier afternoons.

Peter looked up at him. “You're an awesome step-brother.”

“Aw, Pete...” He tugged the boy close, enfolding him before remembering Clint's advice. But Peter just tucked himself close. So Clint was the screwy one after all.

The microwave beeped. Peter squirmed away to quickly add 30 more seconds. He grinned. “Go ahead. I got this.”

Tony smiled and went to the other room, rescuing the remote from Steve. He pressed play and cued it up to the opening credits. “Clint's gonna love this.”

“No,” Clint said. “Clint's not.”

Clint did. The movie ended and he stared rapt, at the screen. “I wanna learn archery.”

Tony laughed, comfortably nestled against Steve's side. “See!”

Clint fixed them with a hard glare. “No. I want to learn archery.”

“Uh. We'll see, Clint,” Steve said, trailing off into a yawn. “Right. Well I'm tired. Time for bed.”

The boys went quickly and surprisingly agreeable, leaving Steve and Tony on the couch. “Thanks for your help today. And thanks for staying,” Steve said.

“Steve. I promised. Besides. I wanted to be here,” Tony said, sitting to stretch his arms over his head. “C'mon. Bed. Well. I've got something for you. And then bed.”

Steve blinked at him.

A rush of affection flooded his systems. Tony stood. He looked away, offering Steve a hand up. “C'mon.” He lead Steve to the bedroom. “Sit.” And then pulled out the bag with the rest of the items he'd bought that day. “Here.

Steve tugged the bag open and pulled out the Joel CD. “Oh. Tony. Thanks.”

“Keep going. You need to branch out. You should like him,” he urged.

Steve pulled out the classical CD and an expression of real joy crossed his face. He smiled broader at the portable CD player and then the Groban CD which he set aside with the Billy Joel one. “Tony... Thank you. This is...very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You're welcome!” Tony said, smiling at his success. He flopped down on the bed. “Good. Now time for sleep.”

“Brush your teeth.” Steve pulled him to his feet and kissed him. “Thank you.”

They got ready and then curled together in Steve's bed for sleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tony woke after the boys had left. He dressed like he was putting on armour before a battle. Underwear. Socks. Slacks. Shirt, buttoned, neatly and tucked into his pants. Belt. Tie. Jacket. He slicked his hair back then tousled it in the fashion of Tony Stark of old, billionaire businessman. He stared himself in the mirror and borrowed Steve's razor to carve out his signature goatee.

Now he looked like Tony Stark. Wait.

Flashed his media smile.

There. Perfect.

He found Steve in the kitchen.

“Wow,” Steve said when he turned around with the milk.

“Morning,” he said through the jitters and flush of pride.

“You look incredible,” Steve said, hushed.

“Thanks.”

“You ready?”

“No.”

“Coffee?”

“Duh.”

“Want me to come with?” Steve asked, making him a mug.

“No.” Tony accepted the coffee, downed half of it and gave it back to Steve for more.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Tony took the mug back, breathing in the aroma.

“When are you leaving?” Steve asked in a smooth voice.

Tony looked at the clock. He needed his watch back again. “Nine. I'm just going to go. After this.”

Steve nodded, mouth tight.

It hurt Tony's heart. “I'm coming back, Steve,” he said earnestly. “I'm coming back to you. Promise. I promise you.” He set his mug down and grabbed Steve's arms. He needed to be believed. Staring up into Steve's face, he watched some of the tightness leave around his eyes. “I will come back.”

“Okay,” Steve breathed. “Tony—” He bent and kissed him roughly. Powerful.

Tony leaned into it a moment, hungry and caught up, until the jitters disappeared and everything was Steve.

“Good luck,” Steve panted against his lips when he broke the kiss.

Tony leaned away, dazed. “Thanks. I might just—” He cut himself off with a quick smile. “Okay. I'm leaving. Pepper and Happy are picking me up downstairs. And then we're swinging by the police department with my evidence, all tucked in my snazzy folder. Then, with the anticipated police escort, on to Stark Tower.”

Steve nodded. “I'd come.”

He managed a smile. Kind of. “Watch me on TV.”

Steve shook his head. “No connection. And I'd rather hear it all first-hand.”

Tony opened his mouth, but his phone rang. “Heya, Pep. I'll be right down.” He hung up and looked at Steve. “Okay. Here I go.”

Steve gave him a curt nod, spine at attention. “I'll see you later.”

“Later.” Tony rushed back to Steve's room, grabbed the file folder, kissed Steve, and rushed down the stairs.

Pepper greeted him with a small smile and his phone.

“Oh Pepper. I love you. You got it back for me.”” He took his phone and the offered tablet like lost limbs returning.

“You're welcome,” she said with a wry grin. “You're ready, Tony?”

“Yes. Well. No. But I'm prepared.”

She nodded. “Good. I'll be right beside you. Remember to filter.”

“I know.” He fell quiet, letting himself get absorbed in updates, emails, and new information available on his tablet. They arrived at the police station where the captain was, assumably thanks to Pepper, free and waiting to speak with Tony. She was, however, surprised to see Tony Stark. That was a nice advantage.

He smiled, shook her head, and allowed himself to be ushered into her office. Despite his nerves, he kept it together to go through all of the details.

“So,” he said finally. “That's my story, my evidence, and I'm sticking to it.”

She nodded and sighed. “Right, Mr. Stark.”

“So are we going over to Stark Tower?” he asked, quickly confirming Stane was in the tower via his tablet. “He's there right now.”

“I will be sending people over, Mr. Stark, to bring Stane in. I need you to—”

“I'm going with.”

Captain Efran shook her head. “No. I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea, Mr. Stark.”

He stared at her a minute, realising she was like Pepper that way. Iron-willed when she said 'no.' So he nodded. “Let me know if you need anything. Then he stood and shook her hand. “Thank you so much for your help.”

She smiled sharply. “Welcome back, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” Pepper murmured as they strode out. “Please—”

“Happy!” He interrupted. Sliding into his vehicle, he ignored Pepper's glare. “Stark Tower, please.”

“Anthony Edw—”

“If you finish that, Pepper,” he threatened. “I have words for Obadiah Stane, and they will be said to him face-to-face so he knows. He will know that I found him out, and I am the reason why he will be spending time behind bars.”

“That's a bad idea,” Pepper said flatly, recovering from startled.

“I don't care. Happy. Go.”

The man hesitated and looked at Pepper.

“Happy, drive or you're fired.”

“Tony!” Pepper protested as the car started moving. “There's no need to act like an ass.”

“Pepper. He's responsible for all of this. He's ruined my business—”

“It's not—”

“And he's ruining my life!” he snapped then looked up at Happy. “Happy. I'd never fire you. Sorry.”

“Your life isn't ruined, Tony,” Pepper said, overriding Happy's muttered thanks.

“Forgive me, Miss Potts, if I want a little revenge.” He folded his arms, glaring out the front windshield. He deserved a bit of throwing it back in Obie's face. The guy was a snake. He'd completely lied to and manipulated Tony and worse! He had made Tony believe that he was his friend and then tried to have him killed.

“The police said they'd take care of it, Tony,” Pepper said gently.

Tony didn't answer, stewing in his anger until they reached Stark Tower.


	19. Always the End

 Arrived.

Happy jumped out and rushed to open the door. “Boss...”

“I'll be fine, Hap,” Tony said lightly. He buttoned his jacket and strode into the building like he owned the place. Which. He did. He was smugly pleased that his codes to the top floor still worked. Strolling down the hall, he held a finger up to his lips when the people looked at him. The ones who had been around for a while rolled their eyes and went back to their work. Tony made a mental note to give them a raise. Apparently they were used to dead bosses coming back to life. The ones who didn't know so well the legacy of Tony Stark stared wide-eyed and mouth agape.

He heard the fuss in his office that Stane had appropriated. He was about ten feet from the door when it burst open and Stane, looking rather harried, rushed out. He covered it quickly as he boomed, “Tony! I can hardly believe it!” Stane threw his arms open for an embrace.

Tony stopped, tucking his hands into his pockets. Put on his media smile full force. “Stane. I bet you didn't expect to see me.”

“What?” Obie said with false offence. He lowered his arms, eyes glinting dangerously.

“You didn't think I'd figure out you were a snake?” Tony said full of saccharine and put-upon cheer.

“What?” The smile fell off his face.

Tony spread his arms. “I think you heard me. I think everyone heard me. For all they're pretending to be working. Thought to get me out of the way? Glad to see your favourite money-maker? Thought me lost? _Made_ me lost, Obadiah?”

Stane's brow darkened as his smile tightened. “Tony, I don't know what you mean. I've been looking everywhere.”

Tony only smiled broader, trailing a finger along the edge of one of the desks. “So you mean to say that you didn't assign two grunts to have me tossed off a bridge?”

“Tony. Tony! Clearly you're... Why don't you come into my office.”

“Oh. You mean _my_ office?” he said cheerfully. He skipped past Obadiah, ignoring all of the people staring. Anger simmered beneath his skin. “Well, let's see what you've done with the place!” He winked cheekily and skirted him into his office.

Obadiah followed him promptly and shut the door. “What happened?”

Tony turned with a moue of disgust. “Don't even. You're guilty, Stane. You're guilty, and a liar. You tried to have me killed. Good job on that, by the way. Obviously even your goons fail you.”

Stane's face twisted into a sneer. “What do you know.”

“A lot more than I used to,” Tony snapped back.

When Stane laughed, it was an ugly thing. “Tony. You're the same naïve boy you always were. To come storming in here, righteous and arrogant.”

“Sorry, Stane. I just want my company back, my due.” He shrugged. “And you're a bastard, Obadiah Stane. You will be arrested. And I just wanted to tell you, I know what you are. I know you're a rotten, sour fucker, and I hope you'll think of me every time you see yourself in the mirror. And I hope you'll think of me,” Tony said darkly, “every time you look through the bars, see those grey walls, and all the ugly faces staring back at you. I hope you think of me every time you eat that shitty jail food. Every time you get cornered by a larger guy in the showers. I hope you fucking think of me, Obadiah. Because you deserve  _anything_ you get. You're a coward. I just want you to know, that I sincerely and completely hate you.”

“Are you finished?” Stane slipped his hands into his pockets. “You're young, Tony. You don't under—”

“Don't tell me I don't understand!” Tony spat. “This is my life you played with. I don't take kindly to that,  _Obie_ ,” he said snidely, perching himself on the edge of his desk. He watched as Obie's face darkened, the smile morphing into a sneer. For every increment Stane's smile slipped, Tony felt his own brighten.

“You're a child.”

“Not any more.”

“And you hardly knew what was best—”

“For the company? For me? For you?” Tony challenged. “Oh! And one more thing, old _friend_ . You're fired.”

Stane laughed. “You can't do that.”

“Um, who owns this company? Last I heard, most of the stock was still in my name, and it says my name on the building.”

Sneering again, Stane loomed closer. “You're nothing, Tony. Can't even live up to your father's name.”

His jaw tightened. “Which you're not fit to say.”

Stane snorted. “If you think that you're irreplaceable, you're not, Tony. If you think that I'm going to stick around to be arrested, you're also sorely mistaken.”

Tony flicked a couple of screens on to see the cops entering the building. He unlocked the elevators before looking at his mentor. Former mentor. “I thought we were friends. Once upon a time. But then you had to go and have me killed. And that kind of ruins a friendship.”

“You always were high-maintenance.” Stane moved towards the bar. “You have all evidence, Tony? Your plans have been known to be half-baked.”

“I'm a new man, Obie. I'm all sorts of prepared. And you're out of time,” he said with another broad grin.

“I can always get more time, Tony,” Stane said silkily, turning. Predictably, he had a gun. “Lock the entry-way doors.”

“No,” Tony said solidly, despite the gun in his face. “ _JESUS_ !” He fell to the floor as a bullet whizzed past his head. “What the fu—”

“Warning shot, Tony. Fix this.”

“They've already got the information, you son of a bitch!” He crouched on the floor, hands on his head.

“No. That would be you. Shut it down and tell them I'm not going in,” Stane ordered, voice flat.

“There's no way that doesn't end with you in jail, Stane,” Tony sneered. “And if you actually kill me, then it'll be murder, not just attempted murder.”

“Seems like my life is over either way.” His eyes flicked to the balcony. “I'm not going in.”

“Really?” Tony said, eyes fixed on the other man while he inched himself around the desk. “I'd think prison would be the perfect environment for you to rule...”

There was a knock at the door saving him from hearing any reply Obie might give.

“NYPD! Open up!”

Stane snarled, fired two shots at the door and then sprinted for the balcony.

“No! Where the fu—where are you _going?!_ ” Tony shouted, but ducked behind the desk as Obie fired off another couple. The office doors burst open, Obie fired, jerked, twin blooms of red appeared on his chest, he gave Tony his shark grin that Tony always used to think was funny when turned on other people, Tony screamed something at him that he later registered as 'bastard,' and then Obie toppled over the rail.

He stared at the now-empty balcony.

“Mr Stark.”

That wasn't how it was supposed to go.

“Mr. Stark.”

Obie was supposed to go to prison. The balcony was empty.  _He_ felt empty.

“Mr. Stark!”

“Uh-huh.” He blinked and the world moved regular speed again. An NYPD detective was looking down at him.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

“I'm fine.” He cleared his throat and stood. “Fine. Thanks.”

“You aren't supposed to be here,” she said, faintly disapproving.

He shrugged. “I had to...”

“You could have asked him later, Mr. Stark.” The frown grew fiercer. “When we'd had him in custody.”

He flinched. “I know. He's...Jesus, who cleans that up? What's left after 100 floors?”

“Mr. Stark,” her expression gentled. “Why don't you let us finish up in here. Go sit somewhere else, leave the building for a little while, sir.”

He nodded. “Maybe I'll get some coffee...” Turning, Tony drifted out the door, past the wide-eyed people. His phone rang. “Pepper.”

“Oh thank God. Tony, get your ass down here right now,” his P.A. shouted.

“Coming...” he said numbly. Tony drifted down the hall to the private elevator. Keying in his personal code, it zoomed him to the first floor.

Pepper turned to him and rushed over, Happy right at her heels. “Tony!”

“I'm fine.” If numb was fine.

“Come on, Tony. We'll take you home,” she said full of pity.

He shook off her hand. “I don't...”

“Tony...” Pepper said, leaning in close. “It's okay. Let's just go home.”

He shook his head. “I can't...”

“ _Tony_ . You've just had a traumatising experience. Let's get you home. You don't need to stand here and—”

“I want coffee.”

“Okay. We'll get you coffee.” She tugged at his arm again, out of the lobby.

He followed her to the car, letting himself be tucked into his limo. He didn't pay attention as Pepper said something to Happy. But they were off. And it wasn't until they pulled up in front of his too-big house that Tony thought he should have classified where 'home' was.


	20. World End: First Date

 Steve _did_ hear all about it. He'd rushed to Sam's place to camp in front of the TV. Obadiah Stane Was Dead. Tony Stark Miraculously Alive. Stark Industries Ceasing Weapons Production. Stark Industries Embarking on Clean Energy Crusade. Tony Stark Tells All. Tony Stark Tony Stark Tony Stark.

Steve shut off the TV and avoided the news.

Tony didn't call.

The first day he blamed it on Tony being busy. He had a lot of things to get caught up on, he'd just closed one division and opened another. So he extended his excuses to the second day. And then the third. A week without and Steve let go, accepting a far-too-empty apartment and stopping mentioning him to the boys. Clint frowned at him more, like he knew, and took to staring at the expensive Pumas on his feet that must have been a gift from Tony. A good-bye present. A parting gift. Something to remember him by. Steve almost hit himself.

Clint came home with stories about the billionaire every so often. Money he'd donated here, resources he'd donated there. Placed he'd shown up. If he were being fair, it did sound like Tony Stark was a busy person.

Steve allowed himself a day of mourning. Listened to the three CDs and let the hurt edges be smoothed away by music he  _did_ end up enjoying.

Almost two weeks later, he opened the door on a Wednesday.

“Sorry it took me so long to get back over here,” Tony said, pushing past Steve, arms full. He dumped his goods on the table. “As you can imagine, I've been busy. Business. The thing with O—Stane...” He shuddered minutely. “There was a trial pushed through... So. Sorry.” Tony turned to face him with a smile that slowly faded the longer he looked at Steve. “Steve?”

“Why are you here?” He blurted.

Tony frowned. “What?”

“I thought...”

“Should I have called first?”

“What? Doesn't... Doesn't matter, I just thought...” Why couldn't he finish a sentence. “Coffee?”

“I just had some. I'm good, Steve. Thanks.” Tony stared at him though, like he had an extra head. Like he was crazy. “Steve?”  
“I'm fine,” he said quickly, turning away so Tony wouldn't be able to see the truth on his face. He'd never been a good liar. Shit, why wasn't he a good liar?

“Steve,” Tony said, broken and heart-broken. “Oh God...  _Steve_ . You didn't... You didn't think I was coming back...?”

Steve couldn't even make himself say 'no.'

“You didn't think I was coming back? That I was going to leave? And leave you all behind like you aren't the single  _best_ thing that happened to me in my entire fucking life?” Tony near-shrieked, gaining momentum.

Steve whirled, wobbling as his leg twinged. He opened his mouth to speak, struck dumb by Tony's hurt.

“I promised you, Steve! I gave you my word, and I meant it! I can't believe you didn't...” He spun away. “I gave my  _word_ , Steve. And while I may be kind of a flake, if I promise you something, I  _will_ follow through.”

“ _Tony_ !” he choked.

The other man's shoulder hunched, and he jerked away from Steve's hand.

“I'm sorry,” he pleaded, trying to see Tony's face. “I'm sorry. I didn't—I don't know what to say! Please don't leave!”

Tony snuck a look at him, face pale, mouth drawn. “I guess I should have called first, huh.”

“No. I'm glad to see you,” Steve rushed out. “I swear, Tony. I just... I didn't expect it. I'm sorry. I just thought—it was wrong. I—people leave. A lot.” Steve sucked in air, staring pleadingly at Tony.

Lips curling into a sardonic smile, his stance shifted, projecting confidence. Steve hated it. “They leave me too, soldier.”

“Tony,” he pleaded. “I'm sorry. Please...? Please forgive me.”

Tony's shoulders tightened again before slumping. “Maybe. I should—”

“ _Please_ .”

“Steve, what am I supposed to think!? That—”

“That I'm messed up and I want—I  _need_ you here!”

Tony's eyes widened. “I...I'm...sorry. Too. I should have sent you...called. Or something. So. Sorry.”

Steve sighed in desperate relief. “So we're both sorry. Can we start again? Tony! It's good to see you. I'm glad you came over,” Steve said, pleasure rushing through him at the smile it wrung out of Tony.

“Hey, Steve. Good to see you too.” Tony hesitated then gave Steve a flirty smile. “Where's my hello kiss?”

Steve stepped close, circling Tony's wrists loosely. “Hey,” he said, low and husky. Tony swallowed. Steve bent his head and kissed him slow and soft and it turned wet and sloppy and filthy and they were both panting from it.

“Much better,” Tony breathed when they separated.

Steve beamed at him. “Yeah. So what was all that stuff you brought over?”

“Oh. Oh yeah!” Tony ducked around Steve, pawing through the bags. “Well, we've got some steak, some cookies—the kind Clint likes. I got you some of that weird juice that you like but never buy. And got a couple new CDs for you to try. And maybe one of these days, we'll upgrade you to an iPod. Well. Not an iPod. But an MP3 player. StarkPlayer. 'Cause let's be honest. Nothing else is gonna be better. But I don't think you're ready for that.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I do know what an iPod is, Tony. I'm not technology-illiterate.”

“Just pop culture?” Tony teased.

Steve felt his face heat. “That's not my fault!”

“Then whose fault is it?” Tony laughed, lining up the food on the table. He pulled out some slacks and tossed them at Steve.

“Tony?”

“Put 'em on! I'm takin' you out, Cap.”

“Taking me out?” Steve frowned, fingers rubbing over the fine material of the pants.

“Yeah!” Tony grinned, looking nervous around the edges. “I've got a reservation. Just you and me. I called Sam. He'll watch the boys for the evening.”

Steve blinked at him. “You...planned this?”

“Steve, I want to...” Tony broke of with an aborted movement of his hands. “You... did so much for me. I just want the chance to.. you know. Make it up to you or something.”

“Tony, you don't owe me,” Steve reassured quickly. “I don't need anything like that from you.”

Tony shook his head, dug in the bag and handed over a new shirt and blazer. “Just... Let me. You did all this stuff for me, and you didn't even know who I was. Let me treat you a bit.”

Steve blushed.

“Go get dressed.”

Steve nodded and hurried down the hall to his room to change.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It was  _comfortable_ . After getting over Tony's obnoxiously outrageous car that he'd driven over in. Sitting at a table with just Tony Stark was comfortable, and it warmed Steve's heart. He'd missed talking to him. He didn't worry about saying the right thing because it didn't matter. But it had the natural intimacy of a date. And it  _was_ a date, Steve was certain. Tony grinned and flirted all night, kicking his ankle by way of a caress. “So,” Tony said, holding Steve's hand as he lead him out of the restaurant.

Steve looked at him, hands swinging between them. “Yeah?”

“I've seen a lot of your place...” Tony said slowly, watching the pavement. “Wanna see mine?”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “Uh...”

“Or not. We don't have to. Just an idea,” Tony said quickly.

“No! That sounds like...fun. Which place?”

Tony grinned at him. “Wanna see my office? Where I work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.” He let Tony drive him back to Stark Tower, take him up to his office and then down to R&D.

“And all the—well, no. That's a lie. Some of the—a  _bit_ , of the creative process goes on here.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. This is where...another lie. I do most of the work in my workshop. Where I... well. At my house.”

“When do I get to see that?” Steve asked with a grin.

Tony blinked at him, step hitching before he caught up. “I don't know. It's... Stark Tower is more my pride and joy,” Tony said with a quick smile. “You look nice, by the way. Tonight.”

“Tony. You dressed me. Thank you, by the way.”

Tony grinned, looked around at the few people still working, and then pulled Steve back down the hall to the elevator. It was thirty-six floors up.

“You know that doesn't make it come any faster,” Steve said, watching Tony jab the button.

“It does when you've programmed the elevator to come at your call at a certain patten of repetition.” The elevator doors opened and Tony pulled Steve in. “Ever made out in an elevator?”

Steve grinned. “Can't say I have...”

“Well,” Tony said, stabbing more buttons. “We've got the entire uninterrupted ride to my office to figure out how much you like it.” Then he pushed Steve back, fingers twisting in his jacket lapels.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Tony's back and pulled him flush. Dipping his head he gave Tony a light peck as the floor started rushing by. Just a tease before fitting their lips together.

Tony, he discovered, made small pleased noises in the back of his throat, warm through the fine fabric of two shirts.

By the time the elevator slowed, Steve was leaning hard against the wall, his bad leg trembling, Tony holding fast. He had one leg hooked between Steve's one hand tangled in his hair the other having wandered down to grab a handful of Steve's rear. They were panting into one another's mouths, Tony groaning as Steve made the forward move of cupping Tony's butt and hoisting him closer.

“Well this is inappropriate behaviour for the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company,” a voice drawled as the doors slid open.

Steve dropped Tony and felt his face flare hot. “Oh my—I'm so sorry! I—”

“Steve,” Tony interrupted, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening his clothes. Steve scrambled to do the same. “Meet Pepper Potts.”

“Oh!” He met her eyes, flushed some more and then dropped his gaze to her shiny violet pumps. They matched her shirt and necklace. “Um. Pleasure to finally meet you. Sorry...you had to...see that...” He hissed towards Tony, “Were you expecting her?!”

“Oh it's fine. I've seen worse. You must be the infamous Captain Rogers,” she said with a kind smile. She held out her hand.

Steve shook it. “Um. Yes.”

“Great! Steve meet Pepper. Pepper meet Steve. Did you need something?”

Pepper's smile turned exasperated as she looked at Tony. “The press release? Concerning Stane?”

Tony didn't flinch but Steve could see it was a near thing. “Sorry, no time,” he said off-handedly.

Pepper's tone gentled. “Tony, I need you to read it and sign off. That should be the last one.”

Scowling, Tony flung out an arm for the paper. Not-quite-stomping over to his desk, he grabbed up a pen and leaned a hip against the desk. He looked amazing, city a backdrop through the clear windows to his muted silhouette.

“So Captain,” Pepper was saying.

“No, Steve. Steve is fine. I've been discharged. Not a captain any longer.”

“I understand you're the one who found Mr. Stark?”

“I fou—oh. Yes.” Steve wrenched his eyes away.

“And then stayed with you?”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting Pepper's eyes. She was going somewhere with this. “Myself and my two brothers.”

Pepper nodded, fingernails tapping against her phone. “And you're their caretaker.”

He nodded. “Miss Potts, whatever you want to know, I'll answer honestly.”

She smiled. “Oh good What do you want from Mr. Stark?” she asked in hushed tones Tony wouldn't hear.

Steve smiled. “Nothing. I just... I like him a lot.”

“Have you had sex with him?”

“Pepper!” Tony said over Steve's spluttering. He swaggered over and pushed the paper back into her hand. “No need to get over-protective. Steve's one of the best.”

He flushed at the praise.

“We haven't gotten past first base. And we would have made second if you'd not tagged us out.”

“Tony,” he whispered.

Pepper looked over the paper and nodded. “Very well. Captain, a pleasure to meet you finally. Take care of our boy.”

“Hey!” Tony protested. But he was smiling fondly, so he couldn't be too angry.

“I aim to,” Steve murmured back quietly.

Pepper smiled brightly at him and then clicked to the elevator and waved at them as the doors closed.


	21. My Domestic

 Tony took Steve out a second time, leaving a nice watch for him with a smile.

Tony took Steve out a third time, bringing him nice shoes.

Tony took Steve out a fourth time, to a ball game, buying behind-home seats.

Tony came over for a fifth time and frowned at Steve's frown when he handed him a new griddle. “What? Your old one _is_ crap, Steve. No offense intended, of course. I've used the thing. It's shit.”

“Tony...” Steve said slowly. “You know you don't have to bring me something every time you come over.”

Tony frowned at him, watching Steve turn the pan over in his hands.

“Tony! This is...! All-clad? This stuff is expensive!”

“Well you needed a new one!”

“Yes,  _maybe_ , but you didn't have to buy one for me.”

Tony frowned at him, shoving clenched hands in his pockets. “I don't... I just wanted to... I mean. I  _can_ , so why not? What if I wanted to use it? I can use it here, right?”  
Steve sighed like Tony'd done something wrong. “You don't have to... Tony. You're buying me off.”

“I'm not...!” He began, indignant. Then his vision swam with sudden images of his father dropping gifts in his room when he didn't have time for him, his father lavishing his mother with gifts when he was late home from work and then vanishing into his workshop. His hand flailed for the edge of the table, but Steve was there, grabbing him around the waist, calling his name from far away. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” he babbled, sagging into Steve's arms.

“Tony? Tony.”

“I didn't mean to... It's not... that's not what I meant. Jesus. You're right; I'm sorry. You're right, Steve. I didn't...I didn't think. I ju—”

“ _Tony_ !”

He jerked, meeting Steve's eyes.

“What's going on?” he asked quietly.

Tony shook his head and pushed himself away. “It's not. I'm sorry. That was... That was unnecessary.”

“Tony.”

He stood.

“Tony.”

Steve stood, Tony backed away.

“ _Tony_ !” Steve grabbed his wrist. 

Jerking, he met Steve's eyes.

“Stop. Just... I didn't...” He frowned, like he didn't know what to say. “Calm down. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry if that was...offensive? Don't run away.”

“I wasn't running,” he mumbled, looking away. “I wasn't, Cap.” He was. But that's fine.

“Why are you so upset over that?” Steve asked gently.

Tony shook his head, mouth twisting.

“Tony?”

“Just leave it.”

“It's bothering you.”

“Oh Jesus. Stop it! I'm the one who upset you, and now you're comforting  _me_ ?” Tony pulled his hand back, chancing a glance at Steve's face. Which now looked more upset. He groaned. 

“Come on. Let's sit. Talk.” Steve reached out and grabbed Tony's hand again.

He resisted a little, but allowed himself to be tugged into the sitting room and pushed onto the couch. “Listen, I'm sorry. I'm screwing everything up. I just got a little... My dad used to be the same way,” he admitted under Steve's patient stare.

Steve's eyes widened. “Your dad?”

Tony hunched over, a sick feeling rumbling through his stomach. “Yeah. He, listen, can I just say I'm sorry and get over with it?”

Steve stared at him some more. “You don't have to tell me, Tony. I'll listen though if you want to.”

“Steve...” Tony drawled half-heartedly. “You're not making this easier.”

“What?”

“No, don't get butt-hurt about it,” he said, sinking back into the couch pillows and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling he'd long since memorised. “My dad was a bastard.”

“Oh?”

“He was a drunk,  _mean_ drunk, workaholic, shitty husband, and piss-poor father. He'd make up his absences and missed events with presents and _stuff_ , just to show he cared.” Tony bit his lip before he continued sounding too bitter for his own good.

“Tony,” Steve said gently. “It's okay, you know.”

“It's not okay. It's too little, too late. Shit. I'd forgotten about this...in light of...” He drew in a steady breath. “I'm not my dad, Steve.”

“Okay.”

“I'm not. I haven't had a drink since that night, you know? It wasn't _really_ a problem. But it was on its way. And now. Well. Now I don't think I could.” He shuddered at cold and the sudden taste of river water.

“That's a good thing, right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Probably. But I don't want to buy you off. The whole point of this is to... I don't know. Steve, I'm  _grateful_ . That's how I know how to show it. Geeze, this is turning into awkward honesty hour...” When he looked up at Steve, he was smiling. “What?”

“Thanks.”

“What?”

Steve scooted closer on the couch. “I'm glad you told me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Did they pull you out of a Harlequin?” He gave Steve a small smile though. “Fine. No more gifts. What can I do instead to show you I'm grateful? And that I'm not gonna leave?”

“You already do, Tony. You come over here all the time.”

“But it's not...” He trailed off, searching for the word.

“What?”

“Easy? I dunno.” He shrugged it off instead of saying, 'When I lived here it was easier. And I miss sharing a bed with you.' “Hey. Does Clint still want archery lessons? I found a place. I'll pay. And it's not... It's different, Steve. I know you guys wouldn't be able to afford it, and I know Clint was really excited. I've got the money, and I want to give him the opportunity.”

“Tony! Then you'll have to get the equipment and where is it?”

“It's at one of the New York magnet schools. There are buses. Or, if you're worried, I can send Happy 'round to pick him up and drop him off. It's a pretty safe area of town, and so are the areas the bus goes through.”

Steve sighed. “You've got it all figured out.”

“Yeah. Sorta. It's what I do...” Tony watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. Steve was trying not to smile. “It's working, right?”

“Maybe,” Steve relented. “It's like arguing for a puppy.”

“No puppies. I can't stand small breakable animals running around my feet.”

Steve laughed. “Fine. But to get back on topic, you don't have to prove how grateful you are, Tony. You've said thank you, and don't forget that I got stuff out of our arrangement. Free baby-sitting for one, additional income—”

“And outcomes! I ate food and used stuff like shampoo, toilet paper, water, your clothes—”

“Tony!” Steve interrupted.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“This isn't an argument. And I don't think 'outcome' in that context is a word. So stop worrying about keeping a tally of what you owe me. It's not a big deal. I'm glad you're safe. I'm glad you remember, and I'm glad you've got your business back.”

Tony shuddered. “He jumped.”

Steve frowned before sagging back into the cushions. “Stane.”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence before Steve nodded and said, “I heard.”

“Who cleans that up, Steve? Jesus. I can't get it out of my head.”

“I know,” Steve said gently. “I've seen stuff too. It's not easy.”

“Shit, I forgot. The war.” He really was ruining this afternoon.

“Yeah.” Steve offered him a lop-sided smile.

“Heh. Well. At least we'll be people with issues together, yeah?” Tony said, half-serious.

But Steve replied gently, “Yeah. I'd like that.” He reached out and his warm hand cupped the back of Tony's neck.

“So uh...” He dropped his eyes. “You gonna keep the pan?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, Tony, I'll keep the pan.”

“Okay good. 'Cause it _was_ expensive...”

Steve laughed. “Well, you're right about the old one being shitty...”

“Good!” Tony said with a relieved smile. “Wouldn't want it to go to waste.” He stood. “Well. Uh. Did you still want to go out?”

“Let's stay in,” Steve said, hefting the griddle. “I'll make eggs.”

Tony grinned and headed into the kitchen. “Then I'll help.” He knew Steve's kitchen better than he knew his own. He rarely set foot in his own. Some nights he didn't even return to the house. Jarvis took care of the kitchen, groceries, and all of the food. If the urge to cook struck, Tony would putter around and ruin Jarvis' organisation. He would usually use the kitchen at the Tower. He was there the most frequently anyway.

Steve's kitchen was homier, despite Tony's being the homiest room in his house. Though maybe it was just Steve. Maybe it was Steve that made it homey. As Tony pulled the bread from the refrigerator, he wondered what Steve could do in his house. If Steve could make it homey. He had plenty of rooms. Steve and the boys could live at his house easily. Why hadn't he thought of this before. He stared at the bread dumbly. Why hadn't he thought of this before? This was a  _genius_ plan!

“Tony?”

He whirled around. “What?”

“Something wrong?”

“What? No. No, it's fine. It's fine.” He grinned and then returned to the toast-making. He'd have to get everything settled at home first. Get rooms for the boys ready. Just in case. He bit his lip as the toaster popped up. If they wanted...? Maybe they wouldn't want to. But... Well. If they did, Tony would be ready. He grinned at Steve as he dumped eggs onto a plate. Tony buttered the toast and put it on the table, setting out the silverware and pouring them both OJ. “Boys be home soon?”

“Yeah. They've been more and more squirrelly since they've only got a few days of school left,” Steve said, shovelling the eggs into his mouth. “Whoops. They're a bit overdone.”

“They're fine. They taste great!” Tony crunched a piece of toast. “Hey... I know we haven't done this yet, but you should come over.”

Steve looked up in surprise, fork half-way to his mouth. “Really? Like, to your house?”

“Yeah. I mean... Well. Soon. Hey. We'll have an end-of-the-school-year party! Barbeque?” Tony thought of his gardens and patio out back. “I've got a pool.”

“A pool?”

“Yeah. Outdoor. Well. And indoor. So we could grill indoors if we need to,” Tony said, running through the plans in his head.

Steve laughed. “I'm sure the boys would love it.”

“It'll be great!”

The boys got home just as Steve and Tony were finishing the cleaning up.

“Tony!” Peter said, flying to his arms.

Tony grinned and ducked down, grabbing Peter around the middle and charging into the other room with him to dive onto the sofa.

“Aaah! I'm defeated!” Peter cried, flailing wildly.

Tony laughed and growled at him. “I'm the winner! I am the champion! No time for losers!”

Peter laughed and wrestled back, as much as his thin arms could.

“You're ridiculous,” Clint drawled.

Tony lifted his head to look over the back of the couch and shared a glance with Peter. “We don't have time for cowards.”

“Ooh, now what, Clint?” Steve laughed.

“ _War_ !” Clint shouted and flew over the back of the sofa to land on Tony.

“Staaaaaaaaark!” he shouted as a battle cry, grabbing Clint with one arm, Peter the other. “I will conquer all!” He laughed at Steve's fond look, sitting on Clint and wrapping his arms around Peter.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Peter gasped.

Clint tried to shove Tony off, grunting. “Not...fair!”

“King of the mountain is... Tony Stark,” Steve said solemnly.

Flopping over, Tony smirked at the boys. “And that's how it's done.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” Pete asked.

Craning his neck again, he looked to Steve.

Who shrugged. “You're always welcome.”

“Pizza?” he asked, so he could pay.

Steve threw him a look that said he knew that, but the boys were clamouring for sausage, pepperoni, and bacon, so pizza it was.

As Tony got back into his car to drive home, he checked the rearview, almost surprised he was still smiling. But if he thought about it, it wasn't surprising. Every time he was over at Steve's it was like he filled up on happiness and warmth. And love, he realised in a sort of awe. He filled up on love. Because the boys loved him. And he was pretty sure Steve loved him. If that warm softness in his eyes was anything to go by. The thought made him smile more. Because he loved them back.

“Good evening, Sir,” Jarvis said as he strolled into his house.

“Heya, Jarvis. Um. So you know Steve?”

“You have mentioned him frequently, Sir.” Jarvis took his jacket.

“I was going to have him and the boys over once school is out. For barbecue.”

“Sounds lovely, Sir.”

Tony watched him hang his jacket and then face him expectantly. Tony took a deep breath. “And I was thinking of asking him to move in with me.” He waited.

Jarvis smiled. Relief flooded through him. “That sounds like a lovely idea, Sir.”

“Thanks.”

“It's been a while since I've had disobedient young people underfoot.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I think you'll like them. I. I do.”

“Sir is an excellent judge,” Jarvis said, moving towards the kitchen.

Tony frowned, knowing it to be untrue, but still. He followed Jarvis. “What do you think?”

Jarvis poured him a glass of the white grape peach juice he'd started stocking, and handed it to him with the hint of a smile. “I've never seen you so happy as when you speak of Steven. Or when you return home from having seen him. And, Sir, if he makes you this happy, then I cannot see how it should be a bad thing to ask him to always be closer.”

Always be closer, huh. Tony accepted the glass and hoped he wasn't blushing. “Thanks Jarvis. I do lo—like him a lot.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

He nodded. “Then I guess we'll have to get some rooms remodelled...”

Jarvis smiled. “It would seem so, Sir. Though perhaps you should—”

“No, I'll finish them first. That way they can see them when they're here!” Tony handed back the drained glass and made a mental note of twelve days before they boys were done with school, including a grace day for himself to get the work finished. This was going to be fun.


	22. Mi Casa

 Steve thought. A lot. Mostly about Tony. Some about his future. Some about the boys. He still had another year of classes ahead. He could take two over the summer, keep his job, and have some time to spend with the boys. Maybe he should get them bus passes. They could go and visit Tony when Tony wasn't busy. He could go and visit Tony when he wasn't busy.

Steve picked up the griddle and put it away. Went to his room to take out the watch Tony had given him. The boys rustled around the apartment quietly, school work finished. He sighed at the watch, slipping it on his wrist. He'd not worn it. Been afraid to, really. Afraid people'd kill him to take the thing. It was a Tissot. And just like the griddle, finer than anything he'd ever owned. The only reason he knew about the griddle was because his mom had coveted the stuff.

Sighing, Steve put the watch back in the box and hid it in the back corner of his closet. Where the suit hung.

He shook his head.

Tony just didn't realise how much he'd done for them. In retrospect, it was all sort of inevitable. The boys had just come to live with him. Tony was introduced soon after they'd arrived. So as Steve was trying to form a family with _them_ , Tony had come along and kind of gotten tangled up in that whirlwind, making himself part of 'family' too. Not that Steve regretted it.

He flopped back on his bed.

No. No regrets. Save for the fact that he _missed_ Tony. And Clint and Pete could clearly feel his absence too. As short as it had been. If only Tony could live with them.

Steve answered the door early the next morning as the boys were getting ready for school. “Tony!”

“Heya, Steve.” He grinned and edged into the apartment. “Hey kiddos!” He smiled at the boys who shuffled into the kitchen.

“Tony?” Peter said slowly, confused.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked. “Is everything okay?” Tony looked ready for work, dressed in his suit, briefcase in hand. “Why are you here so  _early_ ?”

“I've got something for you—I know you said no more gifts, but this is as much for me as for you guys.” He set his briefcase down on the table, opening it up.

“What?” He stared at the other man stupidly.

“Steve.” Tony handed him a small cell phone.

“Tony!”

But Tony'd already turned away. He procured two more and handed them to Clint and Peter. “If you  _ever_ need something, now you can get in touch with me easily. Or with Steve. And each other.”

“Wha...!” Steve spluttered.

“Steve,” Tony said over the boys' excited mumbles, “your old phone was a piece of crap. These are 3 rd gen Starkphones. Tell me if you come across any glitches. Anything at all you notice. Anything. You're testers! On the Stark network, so you should experience no dropped calls and nearly instantaneous messaging.”

“Oh my goodness,” Steve groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “ _Tony_ .”

“You're welcome,” Tony said quickly, a tightness around his eyes.

Yesterday's conversation flooded his mind.

“This is so I can bug you whenever I want to, you know,” Tony said, grin wavering.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve finally said. He bent forward to a quick press of lips.

“Gross,” Clint said with exaggerated gagging. “But thanks, Tony.”

“Yeah! Thanks!” Peter chirped. “This is so totally awesome.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Finish getting ready. Tony, thank you.”

He grinned. “See you guys. I've got to run. Early meeting. You know.”

Nodding, he gave Tony a deeper kiss once the boys were gone from the kitchen. “Have a good day, sweetie,” he teased.

“Aw, thanks shnookums. Be home for dinner.” Tony gave him another peck and a goose on the bum and then he was gone.

A minute later, Steve's new phone dinged. Frowning, he opened the message.

_Have a good day. Love you._

Steve's grin could have powered the apartment. But then... Steve tapped reply and typed out:  _Really? You're going to tell me you love me for the first time via text?_ He got himself ready and ushered the boys out the door. He was down in the garage when he heard his name. Turned and Tony was rushing towards him. “What are you—”

“Did you get a text message?” he panted. “Ignore it. It didn't happen!”  
“Oh...” Steve regretted the message he sent.

Tony took a deep breath and straightened. “Definitely going to be late for work.”

“Did you forget something?”

Tony smiled at him a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He reached out and clasped Steve's right hand between his two warm rough ones, “Steven Rogers. I love you.”

Steve stared at him. Tony's cheeks were flushed, whether from running or his confession, Steve didn't know, but it was endearing nonetheless.

“Steve? Woohoo? You in there,” Tony joked nervously.

“You came back? To tell me that?” he asked, embarrassed by the thickness of his voice.

“Well, yeah... I couldn't... Steve! Tell me you love me!”

Laughing even though it was Tony's insecurity and not funny, Steve pulled Tony close. “I love you, Tony Stark. You crazy person.” He could feel Tony's grin against his jaw.

“Okay. Good. Now I really have to go, else Pepper'll flay me alive.” Tony disentangled himself and waved before he disappeared between the cars.

Steve went to work,  _very. Happy_ .

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

On the last day of school, Steve picked the boys up and helped them carry all of the crap from their lockers to the car.

“Well. Glad that year's over,” Clint said with a sigh as he collapsed into the car.

“Glad for high school next year?” Steve asked, buckling up before starting the car.

“No.”

“Why not?” Steve asked.

“Because the high school will be full of the same jerks as the middle school.”

“Except for one,” Peter said.

Clint rolled his eyes. “You'll still be in middle school, Pete. Besides, the high school doesn't have an archery club.”

“Sorry, Clint. Most schools won't have one,” Steve said, amused.

“Can I go to a high school that  _does_ have an archery club?”

“I want to take gymnastics!” Peter said.

“You didn't want to when I was,” Clint said.

“Because it wasn't cool when you did it.”

“And now it is,” Clint snorted. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“Alright!” Steve said “Enough. Clint, going out-of-district costs more. So no, sorry. And Peter, I'm sorry. We don't have money for gymnastics either. It's expensive.” He snuck glances at their disappointed faces, wishing he  _could_ give them everything they wanted. He'd forgotten Clint used to do gymnastics before his parents died. He sighed and they drove most of the rest of the way in silence.

He lead them upstairs after they parked, managing everything, surprisingly, in one trip. Leg hurting sharply after four flights of stairs, he balanced everything while he stuck the key in the door. He almost dropped it, however, when the door flew open. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, Steve,” Tony said, grabbing a bag of stuff. “Congrats on finishing the year, half-pints. So, I couldn't wait...”

Steve followed Tony in, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “For what?”

“What?” Tony looked at him, setting the bags down.

“What couldn't wait?” Peter chimed in.

“Oh! My grand unveiling!” Tony grinned wildly.

“Of what,” Steve prompted.

“Happy graduation from middle school, Clint!” Tony said. “You guys want to come to my house for barbecue and swimming?”

“Yeah!” Peter shouted, Clint echoing him.

“I was gonna give you guys a day or two to recoup, but I couldn't wait! I've got burgers, steak, hot-dogs—”

“Wow. Tony,” Steve interrupted. “That should be more than plenty for the four of us.”

“I know that. Pepper'll show up. Maybe. And you guys can meet Jarvis,” he continued.

“Jarvis? Who's that?” Peter asked.

Tony paused, looked at Steve. “Steve, do you want to come?”

“I... Yes, of course. I—”

“Don't worry. You don't have to do anything. Jarvis and I will do all the work. Just relax. Have a dip in the pool.”

“Uh. I don't have trunks,” Peter said.

Tony looked around at the three of them. “Oh. Is  _that_ the problem? You guys don't have trunks?” Tony laughed, not unkind. “Guys. I can  _get_ you trunks. C'mon. There's got to be a Macy's around here somewhere.”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly. “We can just go to Walmart. Not a big deal.”

Tony shook his head. “Uh. No way. You want that material on your butts?”

Peter snickered.

“'Kay. My car's downstairs. Steve, you work tomorrow?”

“What?” He was having a hard time keeping up with Tony today. He was tired. He'd had another nightmare last night and his leg was sore. “Uh. No work.”

“Great! Let's go!”

Steve sighed and they piled into Tony's Jag—Tony's  _customised_ Jag—and zoomed off to Macy's for three pairs of over-priced trunks, then turned and headed, presumably to Tony's house.

Whatever Steve had been expecting, he was pretty sure a  _mansion_ was not what he had in mind. Clint and Peter gaped out the window as they buzzed through the gates and up the drive. Pulling into the garage, a man waited there, impeccably dressed.

“You have a  _butler_ ?” Clint blurted.

Tony hopped out of the car. “Heya, Jarvis.”

“Sir,” the man replied.

In the rearview, Steve saw Peter and Clint exchange glances of awe.

“Dude. Guys. Get out of the car. Come meet Jarvis! Jarvis, tall, blonde, and gorgeous is Steve. Half-pint number one is Clint and quarter-pint is Peter!” Tony turned back to them. “Guys, meet Jarvis!”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” the man said in a sophisticated English drawl.

Steve shook his head and hurried over. “A pleasure to meat you, Mr. Jarvis.”

“ _Just_ Jarvis, Sir, will do.” The man smiled faintly. “Should you like me to bring your belongings to your rooms?”

“Rooms?” Steve said, the boys coming up behind him.

“Jarvis!” Tony whined. “You spoiled the surprise!” He turned to them. “Made up rooms for you guys!”

“Like... A bedroom?” Clint asked, confused.

“Yup! Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

Steve sighed.

“After the tour. I'll give the tour, Jarvis.”

“Of course you shall, Sir.”

Steve frowned. Was that sarcasm?

“Are you guys hungry yet?”

“No, not yet,” Peter said. “I wanna see the house. This is huge!”

“Then I shall prepare drinks in the...would Sir like the library or the sitting room?”

“Sitting room.” Tony turned towards them as Jarvis headed off. “Right!”

“Dude,” Clint said flatly. “You have a fricken  _butler_ .”

“Yes,” Tony said. “Now. This is the garage, obviously.” He took them inside and directed them through the dining room, ballroom (boring, no one holds dances anymore), living room, library, study, office, kitchen (okay, mostly Jarvis' domain), the rec room, Tony's workshop (we won't go in. It's a mess. Likely hazardous for tourists.), the sitting room, and the family room with a giant TV and giant fireplace.

“How do you not get lost?” Peter asked as they paused by the stairs.

Tony shrugged. “I grew up in this house...”

Steve held himself back from saying, 'How lonely.'

“Well!” Tony said brightly. “On to the upstairs! The part I'm most excited about!”

Steve followed, in a bit of a daze from the sheer extravagance of Tony's home. His house was beautifully decorated, the colours all matching and coordinating. There were pieces of art on walls and tables worth more than what Steve made in a year.

But for all Tony's play at normal, Steve hadn't missed Tony's almost-nervous glance at him when he thought Steve wasn't looking. Steve was almost always looking. And he hadn't missed the extra flutter in Tony's hands as he pointed things out and explained features of his house.

Tony paused in front of a door and paused, hand on the knob. “Okay, Pete. C'mere.”

Peter scooted around Steve and hovered by Tony's side.

Steve moved across the hall and leaned against the wall to rub his leg.

“Aaaaaaand....” Tony said, pushing the door open. “Tada!”

Peter's jaw dropped.

Steve stared too. It was Peter. In a bedroom. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. There was a lofted bed, a hammock, Arachnid-Man sheets, bright red walls, a big desk and a bookshelf in stylish black. “Tony...” he breathed in awe.

Peter wandered through the room, fingertips barely-touching everything. “This is...a room for me?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“You like it?” Tony asked, fingers drumming against his thigh. A nervous habit, Steve had noticed.

“Tony!” Peter said, whirling. “This is fricken  _awesome_ !”

“Do I have a room?” Clint demanded.

“Clint,” Steve admonished.

But Tony was grinning, almost giddy. “No. Just Peter,” he teased.

“Where is it?” Clint asked, hurrying out to the hall.

“Whoa, whoa!” Tony snagged the back of Clint's shirt and scooted in front of him as they reached the next door. “My surprise, me first.”

Clint shifted one foot to the other, the clearest sign of his impatience.

Steve hid his grin as Tony threw open the door and stepped aside to let Clint through. “Geeze,” Steve murmured. “I am really impressed...” Tony dropped his eyes, cheeks perhaps pinking as Clint gaped at the room tailor-made for him. There was a big window across the wall from where his bed was, piled high with pillows in a very grown up grey colour. It had accents of the same deep purple that Clint liked. There was a dresser with an arrow-shaped lamp. A desk next to that with a ladder that went up to a reading space under the vaulted ceiling. The walls were a soft almost-white grey that gave the room a clean mature feel. Sparsely decorated, but that was Clint.

Steve shook his head, murmuring to Tony, “You're amazing.  _This_ is amazing. I don't know what to say.”

“Do you want a room?”

Steve looked at him sharply.

“Or are you going to share with me?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Do I get to see your room?”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a grin.

They left Clint and Peter to explore their rooms, and then Tony lead him down the hall, across the landing. He pushed open the door into a room that...was Tony. But wasn't.

“Wow.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's... cleaner than I expected.”

Tony's lips quirked. “Thanks?”

Steve looked around, cream walls, stream-lined wood furniture with gold hardware. The room had wood floors, an elegant red-hued rug in the centre of the floor. Tony's bed was huge, a thick burgundy throw on top. A fan spun lazily with gold-tipped blades in the vaulted ceiling. The far wall had big French doors that opened onto a spacious balcony. There were very few personal items, and no pictures or art on the walls. “It's...red and gold.” He grinned. “Are those your colours?”

“Huh?”

Steve pointed them all out, the red and gold hinted everywhere.

“Oh. Yeah. Red's my favourite colour. I guess. I added a lot of gold. Your...”

Steve blinked. “My what?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Your painting, boy wonder.”

Steve's lips rounded into a silent 'O.'

“Oh come on,” Tony said, turning away. “Don't pull the blushing routine...”

Steve grinned. He grabbed Tony's wrist and turned him. “So... Are the rooms for just in case this party goes late?”

Tony half-smiled quickly. “Yeah.”

Steve pulled Tony closer. “I gotta sit.” he murmured, sinking to the edge of Tony's bed. He smiled at the man who could chase all the shadows away. “You're amazing.” It was the only thing that could make Tony blush, praise. Steve pulled him down for a slow kiss. “I love you, Tony Stark.”


	23. Es Su Casa

 Giddy. He was giddy. Steve loved him. Steve could probably see right through him about the rooms. But honestly? He couldn't care right now. Pete and Clint loved their rooms. Steve would stay in Tony's room. He kissed Steve back and then grinned. “Perfect. Shall we go get drinks?”

Steve's smile was warm and perfect. “Sure.” Tony helped him to his feet and when Steve grabbed his hand, Tony let him do it.

“Hey guys! You thirsty?”

Peter came running right away. Clint poked his head out and then disappeared again. “Oh.” Tony said, remembering the bow he'd hidden in Clint's closet.

“Clint, c'mon,” Steve called.

“My room is awesome, Tony!” Peter was saying. “I love everything about it! It's perfect! And the hammock is so cool!”

“Hey, Tony!” Clint called, poking his head out.

Tony gave Steve a grin, dropping his hand. “You and Peter head downstairs— _Hey_ _Jarvis_!” He shouted over the landing rail. “Wanna show Steve and Peter where you put drinks!”

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Go on. Be right there.” He waved and headed down to Clint's room.

Clint's arms were folded across his chest, the bow laid out on his bed. “Did you do this?”

Tony grinned. “You like it?”

Clint looked at the bow with clear adoration.

“I made it. You're kind of small. But strong. And bows for someone like you are hard to find... What?”

“You made it. _Made_ it?” Clint gaped at him.

“Clint. I have everything I need at my disposal. It wasn't too hard. But, okay. Steve doesn't know. Yet. Steve doesn't know yet, so you need to wait—okay, stop rolling your eyes. Why are you rolling your eyes?”

“Tony, you hid it in my closet with a note attached saying, 'For Clint. Shh! Secret!'”

He laughed. “Oh yeah. Well. I found a place for you to take lessons. But. Well. I'll clear it with Steve first. Sounds good?”

That got a small wicked grin out of Clint.

“Worst case, come over and practise in my back yard.”

“Wow. Encouraging me to lie?” Clint teased.

“You do that well enough on your own. Thirsty?”

Clint shook his head and put the bow back in his closet. “You expecting us to move in soon?”

Tony shrugged a little too casual. Clint's eyes narrowed at him then flew wide.

“Oh my god, _you are_!”

“I am not.” Damn that kid was perceptive.

“You shit liar!” Clint accused. “Oh my god. Steve's never gonna go for it!”

His stomach sank through his feet. “Wait, really?”

“Dude. You know Steve. Stubbornly independent. He doesn't want your charity.”

“It's not charity!” Tony protested.

“ _Tony_ . How could he see it as something _but_ charity,” Clint said levelly.

He felt sick. Clint's expression slowly changed from kind of derisive and smug to worried. Tony cleared his throat. How else was he going to get Steve to move in with him? He could beg. _Would_ beg.

“Jesus. Do you need to sit?” Clint asked, taking a step forward.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Uh...How _wouldn't_ he see it as charity?”

“Wow. You really want us to move in?”

Tony nodded.

“We would have to switch schools.”

He nodded again.

“Move out of the apartment.”

“Well. If Steve wants. I dunno. I mean, you guys could spend weekends there if you want or something. I don't care! I was—why am I explaining this to you. I should be talking to Steve, and we need to go down, speaking of Steve, before he gets suspicious.”

Clint smiled. “You want all of us here?”

Tony frowned. “Well yeah. I mean. Steve wouldn't come without you, for one. And I would miss you guys too, as long as I'm spilling my guts to you.”

Clint smirked and gave Tony a soft punch in the arm. “Just tell him that.”

Tony nodded. “Right. That's not weird or hard at all.”

Clint laughed. “Let's go, genius. What kind of drinks did your _butler_ prepare.”

Tony followed him downstairs, dropping his hands into his pockets. “I don't know. Jarvis put something together.”

“Dude, this is totally poor little rich girl...” Clint laughed.

“I might not like you anymore...”

“Liar. So you have a target for me to practise on?”

“Oh Clint. I have ideas. Moving targets. Randomised targets. It'll be great!”

“What'll be great?” Steve asked, appearing out of one of the doorways. “I was wandering where you went. I'd say you got lost, but... Well. You live here.”

“The grilling. Jarvis is a pro.” He smiled.

“This guy do everything for you?” Clint asked.

“Anything Master Stark will permit,” Jarvis said from behind Clint.

“ _Je_ sus!” Clint jumped.

“My apologies,” he said, clearly not.

Tony tried really _really_ hard not to laugh as Clint glared at Jarvis, Jarvis staring back, blank-faced.

“That's creepy.”

“There are many disquieting things about Master Stark, yes.”

“Hey! Hey! When did this become about me!”

“Isn't it always?” Steve teased with a grin. “Now come sit. Peter and I have no idea what to do with your giant television.”

“Isn't it awesome! I have surround sound, and super HD!” he bragged. He rarely had people over to share the theatre experience, so this was fun.

“Sir. When would you like me to put on the meat?” Jarvis asked as the rest went into the room.

Tony paused. “Maybe four thirty. Gonna join us?”

Lips quirking, Jarvis shook his head. “I think not, Sir. You go join your people.”

“You'll join us for dinner, right? One of those tasty steaks is for you, you know.”

“Tony, if you should like me there, then I shall, of course, be present.”

“What can I say, Jarvis; you're family.”

“So, I suspect, are they,” his butler murmured with a brow arched at the noise from the other room.

“Yeah. Yeah, they kind of are. And hey. I found them all on my own,” he said, that warm feeling returning.

“Well done, Sir,” Jarvis said without any trace of sarcasm.

Tony grinned and joined everyone in the other room to show them how to use his giant (voice-directed) TV.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

By dinner time, Clint was beating everyone in Mario Kart. Steve often lost miserably because he thought too hard about it, and Peter was quickly gaining a number of creative wins. Tony lost at first because he wasn't paying attention to the game. Then he lost because he was cocky. Then he lost because he had more fun watching Peter, Clint, and Steve play.

“Sir. Dinner is ready,” Jarvis announced.

“Ugh!” Peter groaned. “Good! I'm _starving_!”

“Peter, you're not starving. Not literally,” Steve said wryly. “You had lunch. I wish you would stop saying that.”

Tony let Jarvis lead everyone out, walking next to Steve.

“So...for someone who _owns_ the game system, I would have thought you'd be better,” Steve teased.

He shrugged. “I didn't bring my A-game.”

Steve snorted. Then, “You okay?”

“Yeah! Great. Why.”

Steve shook his head. “Just wondering. What were you talking about with Clint?”

“Oh...” He ducked his head. “Uh. About archery lessons?”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. He really wants it.”

“I said I'd—”

“Tony. I won't have you paying for everything.”

“I'm not! I just got him into it, incidentally, so I figured it'd be...” he said, swallowing. Clint was so right about asking Steve to move in. Shit...

Steve gave him a look. “Listen. It's not a big deal. We'll talk about it later. Yeah?”

“Sure,” Tony lied easily. “Let's get food; I'm hungry.”

“Tony? Hungry?” Steve's fingers brushed his wrist.

“Yeah, what of it?”

Steve pulled his hand back. “What's the matter?”

Shit. “Nothing.” He forced a smile, brain whining as everything quietly flew off the handle in seconds. “That came out sharper than I—just a joke. Supposed to be a joke!” Steve's frown didn't go away. “Steve, let's go get food! Hot steak! Mmm!”

“No wait...” Steve grabbed his shoulder. “Tony. Tell me what's wrong. Did I do—”

“Jesus, _no_. Not you. It's... C'mon. Let it go. Please?” he asked desperately. Damn, now he looked angry.

“It's something I did. Said?”

“No! _Fuck_ . I just...” Tony pulled away and threw his hands up as his mouth moved faster than his brain. “I was going to ask you to move in, but I'll just make you mad, and I'm not trying to make you my kept man or anything, I just want you— _all_ of you living with me and I've got the space, you can still work or whatever you want, but I've _got_ money, Steve! I don't want to _buy_ you, but who else am I supposed to spend it on! _Fuck_ ! I wasn't going to ask you now—or _today_! Jesus, shut me up!” He slapped a hand over his mouth. Steve wasn't looking at him. Look at me. “Look at me—”

“Tony,—”

“I just want you to be with me all the time, and don't tell me you don't sleep better when I'm there—I know you do! And I sleep better too—”

“Okay.”

“I—what?” he blinked.

Steve looked at him finally and smiled. “Okay.”

“What?” he repeated stupidly.

“It means 'yes,' Tony. Though I'll need a map to navigate your _monster_ of a house—Tony this is a _mansion_ , not a house. I want to live with you. I miss you underfoot. And it's not practical for you to move in with us, so it makes sense for us to move into with you. And I know you want it! I know you _mean_ it. Geeze. Peter's and Clint's rooms? They're amazing. Perfect for both of them. And I don't want a room. Just yours. We'll share. If you like. And we can put stuff on your walls. Because they need decoration. They're kind of sadly bare. Tony?”

“Wow.” He stared at Steve.

“Tony?”

“So...uh. _Not_ what I was expecting,” he breathed. He leaned heavily back against the wall, feeling light-headed. “Wow.”

“You okay? Need to sit?” Steve grabbed his upper arms.

“Nope,” Tony said faintly. “Just you. Wow. Did I just say that? I'm...sorry. That was much easier than I expected. People need to stop asking me if I need to sit.”

Steve smiled. Bright and golden. His golden boy.

“Wow.”

“Well. I figured you wouldn't design and decorate rooms for Pete and Clint if they weren't meant to be at least semi-permanent.”

“Oh. You know, I forget you're not dumb.”

Steve snorted. “Thanks, Tony.”

He grinned. “So. Steak now? Because I am actually hungry. You want to break the news?”

Steve bent forward and kissed Tony. “Sure. I'll do it. After we eat. The boys'll be excited.”

And he was back to giddy again. He rocked back on his heels, grinning. “Great! I hope so. There's ah...also the matter of those archery lessons.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but his lips were twitching. “One thing at a time, Tony. There'll be a lot of stuff to figure out. Like schools.”

“Yeah, got that. Did my research.” He bumped his hip against Stseve's and then headed into the bright back yard. Jarvis gave him a look, the expression softening at Tony's wide smile.

Steak went over well. After, when everyone was lounging by the poolside, Steve tossed a beachball at Clint's head. “So. You guys like your rooms?”

“Definitely,” Peter said, Clint murmuring similar sentiments, lobbing the ball back at Steve.

“What about staying in them permanently?” Steve continued casually.

Clint stilled and straightened on the chaise; Peter pushed his sunglasses off his face. “Wait...really?”

Tony watched through cracked lids as the boys turned their heads to look at him. He held back the smile.

“Dude, you serious?” Clint blurted.

“Yup,” Tony said, stretching his arms over his head. He started, eyes flying open as Peter whooped and Clint hollered. He shared an amused glance with Steve. “Mi casa es su casa, literally.”

“Augh! This is gonna be _awesome_!” Peter yelled, running over towards Tony. “You're awesome!” And threw himself on Tony's lap.

“OOF! Pete! Glad you're excited...”

Steve laughed. “Okay. How about shower, activity, then bed? Tony, do you have aloe? You guys look kind of burnt.”

Clint snorted. “Forget half-brother, Steve, you're more like 'mom' than anything else.”

“And Tony can be 'dad!'”

Clint smirked. “Moving a bit soon, Pete. But one day.”

“Watch it,” Tony said lazily, shoving at Pete's thin frame. Idyllic came to mind. When he looked at Steve, he flicked his shades up. “What?”

Steve walked over and grabbed Peter up around the middle and kissed Tony rough. “Love you.”

He blinked up at Steve, faintly registering Clint's gagging and Peter's 'awwww-ing.'

“Shower,” Steve said to Peter, pushing him towards the house. “Clint. Go on.”

“There's a bathroom between your rooms and another one down the hall from your room, Clint. Plenty of hot water,” he said faintly, eyes still locked with Steve's. Once they were far enough away, he said, “Were you suggesting what I thought you were suggesting?”

“What do you think I was suggesting?” Steve asked, eyes wide in innocence.

“My dear Captain Rogers,” he drawled, shifting on the chaise. “Were you hinting that we should share a shower. To...conserve our resources?”

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “I am a big proponent of 'reduce, reuse, and recycle.' American duty and all that.”

Tony leapt up and grabbed Steve's wrist. “C'mon. My shower's big enough for the two of us.” He dragged Steve up the stairs and into his bathroom.

“Jesus, you really weren't— _Tony_. This is bigger than my room!” Steve laughed as they stumbled into the space.

“It's fine. It's fine, right? There's—look!—even a little bench where you can sit if your leg gets tired—oh god, the ideas. Steve! Get your trunks off!” Tony ordered, flip-flops kicked aside, water started, and trunks on the floor in seconds.

But Steve wasn't moving.

“Steve.”

Steve was staring at him.

“Dude. You're going to make me self-conscious. What's the matter?'

“Wow,” Steve breathed. “Look at you.”

He leaned around Steve to check the mirror. Frowned. Medium broad shoulders, toned arms, tapered waist to average solid hips, a light dusting of hair over his thighs. “Okay?”

“Wish I—” He shook his head. “you look gorgeous to me.”

Warmth spread through him even as he rolled his eyes. He hoped he wasn't blushing. “Alright. Now you've seen me. Water's a-wasting. Shuck 'em, Steve.”

Flushing, Steve untied his trunks and pushed them over his hips until the fell around his ankles. Tony had seen Steve's pretty glorious chest all afternoon. The way his abs tapered, sculpted into those shorts. The faint dusting of hair that lead the way from Steve's navel to his cock.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said, husky. “In the shower? Now?”

There was also an angry mark on Steve's upper thigh, twisted and kind of ugly.

But Tony didn't care.

The smell of chlorine reflooded his nose as he stepped under the spray and soaped himself quickly. Steve stepped into the shower as well. He followed suit as Tony handed him the bar of soap. He rinsed off and palmed his dick, looking Steve over.

“Tony...” Steve murmured, eyes wide and hungry.

“Look at you, Jesus...”

Shuffling closer, Steve reached around Tony to put the soap back on the shower caddy.

Tony took advantage and pulled Steve close, grabbing two handfuls of ass and rolling his hips up against Steve's. Steve swore and gripped Tony's shoulder, hard. “Ugh, yes.” He did it again, his dick hardening. When Steve shuddered, Tony guided him back to the bench and pushed at him.

“I'm not... I'm fine to stand,” Steve protested.

“Yeah, I know. Sit. You'll like it.” Tony grinned, kissing him quick and filthy.

Steve sat.

Tony pushed his knees apart and knelt between them. He licked his lips. “Haven't done this in... long time...”

Steve sucked in a breath.

Steam filled the bathroom slowly, water hitting the backs of Tony's legs, spray tickling the curve of his ass. Tony bent over Steve's cock and took the head into his mouth.

Steve's breath whooshed out.

Tony sucked gently, swirled his tongue once, and then pulled off. “Anybody ever done this?” He looked up, Steve's face red, biting his lip.

“No. Mostly just... Please keep going.”

Tony grinned and sucked at Steve gently. When one of Steve's hands came down to his hair he hollowed his cheeks and flicked his tongue over the head. He would have grinned at the sound of Steve's breathy curses if he could. Trailing his hands up the back of Steve's calves, he cupped his balls in one hand. His other fell to his own lap so Tony could rock into his fist.

Groaning around Steve, he wrapped fingers around what he couldn't reach with his mouth. Steve's fingers tightened in his hair. He sucked harder. Steve hissed. Tony pulled back, tonguing the slit. Steve groaned into his hand.

“Please,” Steve whispered, voice breaking. “I'm...almost. Tony. I'm so close! I'm—hnnnshit!”

Tony pulled off and tightened his fingers around Steve's dick, stroking him until he choked and groaned into his hand, spurting towards the drain.

“Get up here,” Steve panted, flapping a hand in Tony's direction.

“Good?” he asked, standing. Steve grinned at him, looking well-sated. Then he was pulled down for a kiss before Steve turned him around and pulled him into Steve's lap. “Steve.”

“I got you,” he murmured.

Steve's chest was warm and solid at his back and the hands down his chest made him shiver. Steve's hand closed around him and stroked long and firm. “Steve... Har...no, faster, c'mon, I'm close!” Tony thrust up into Steve's hand, reaching behind him to clasp his hands behind Steve's neck. “Hnng! Yes...!”

“There we go, Tony,” Steve murmured, hot next to his ear.

“Yeah, talk to me, Steve,” Tony gasped, eyes squeezing shut to let the sound of Steve's voice carry him over the edge. Panting in Steve's lap, he grinned lazily at the shower head. “That was...awesome.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “We should finish up. Clint and Pete.”

Tony nodded. “I could just lay on you forever. This...ugh. Okay. And up!”

They finished quickly, dressed, and then went downstairs to join Clint and wait for Peter.


	24. A House Becomes a Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, thanks for reading. I have appreciated all of your comments. This is the 'official' ending for our boys here. 
> 
> However, there are some events that felt I could not address in the fic proper without disrupting story-flow, so you WILL have some extras for this fic. So keep watch on it still. If there's anything in particular you'd like to see addressed, I'll consider it!
> 
> So once again, thank you for reading--I never imagined this fic would have so many views, comments, and kudos. :) You guys rock!

 Steve ended up falling asleep on the sofa. To be fair, he'd just had a warm shower, an orgasm, and it was a comfy sofa. And Tony was warm against his side when he fell asleep. The movie they'd been watching had been something full of action and explosions, more suited to Clint and Peter, so he'd taken the chance to rest his eyes. With all of the reasons listed, it was easy enough to drift off, despite the lights flashing outside his eyelids.

Tony woke him later when the movie was apparently finished. He murmured something about the boys, teeth, and tomorrow, guiding him up the stairs and into Tony's room.

“Come on. Time to get you tucked in.”

Steve managed enough mental faculties to snort. “Not a child...”

Tony grinned, a brief flash of teeth. “Course not. You're just a tired boy. Get under the covers. Want a story?”

Steve batted Tony's hands away clumsily, stripping off his jeans and shirt before curling himself into Tony's bed. Comfy bed. He heard the rustle of Tony removing his own clothes and then slide between the sheets. Tony's warmth scooted up behind him and an arm draped across his waist. Steve smiled faintly, cuddling Tony's hand close to his chest. One of the things he'd missed: sleeping with another person.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Sunlight found him comfortable and well-rested, cocooned in Tony's arms and the bunched duvet. He smiled and let himself drift through the morning until Tony shifted against him, indicating that some parts were more awake than others.

His face heated up. Steve ignored it until Tony rocked into him. “Tony... Tony!” he hissed.

“Mmmmmmorning...” Tony rumbled. He pressed up close against Steve. “You wanna...?”

His own...penis twitched in interest. “Uh.”

Tony's arms wrapped tight around his waist, a hand sneaking down to palm him through his boxers. “Morning sex is great, you know,” Tony said, voice all rough.

“Uh, yeah?”

Tony laughed, nuzzling into the back of his neck. “Got 'n idea. Boxers off...”

Helping Tony's fumbling hands, Steve pushed his boxers off. “Now what?” he asked, hushed. Nerves hummed along his skin as Tony scooted closer. Somehow Tony's boxers had disappeared as well. He pushed his hips forward, penis nudging at the base of Steve's butt. His breath caught.

Tony grunted and reached over Steve to the drawer in the bedside table. Rummaged a bit and then flopped back, a bottle in hand.

“Tony?”

“Not going in just yet...” he murmured. “We can do that later, if you like.”

Steve felt hot. Disentangled his fingers from the duvet and pushed it down until there was only the sheet. Tony kissed the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine. Stroked him twice before squirting lube onto his fingers.

“I think you'll like this,” Tony breathed against his ear.

Steve shuddered, Tony nudging at his legs.

“Spread 'em. Just a bit,” Tony instructed.

He gasped as Tony's slick cock slid between his legs and nudged up against his testicles. “ _Oh_ .”

“Alright, gorgeous. Now squeeze those legs kinda tight.”

He did and was rewarded with a groan from Tony. “Good?” he asked.

“Oh yeah...”

Then Tony's hand closed around him and stroked him in time with his little thrusts.

“Oh...” he murmured softly. Heat and tension raced along his bones and he pushed back to meet Tony's thrusts. His one hand balled in the pillow, he reached behind him to grasp Tony's thigh. “This is...” He bit down on a lip, flushing hot at the realisation that it was  _Tony_ between his legs. It was weird and not at all what he thought...two men did together in bed, but it was  _good_ . He'd never gotten to this part. Not past hurried fumbles in dark spaces.

“You like it?” Tony's other hand closed over the head of him, and thumbed at the slit.

Steve gasped Tony's name, arching hard.

Tony swore under his breath.

Groaning softly, he removed his hand from the pillow and pressed it over his mouth. The boys were all the way down the hall, but he didn't want them to be hearing him.

“Wanna hear you. They can't hear. Promise. Probably not even awake,” Tony said, twisting his hand on the upstroke.

Keening softly, Steve bucked into Tony's hand, squeezing his thighs together.

“F-fuck...!”

Tony's fingers tightened and Steve arched hard, crying out as he came. As he came back down to earth, he heard Tony swear behind him and then stroked himself until he came half a minute later.

“Wow...” Steve managed, flopping onto his back.

“Oh yeah...” Tony mumbled, a sated grin on his lips.

Steve rolled and pressed his lips to Tony. “Well good morning.”

Tony smirked and leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed something, wiping himself and Steve clean. “Good morning indeed. So. Breakfast?”

Steve stretched on the bed, watching Tony shuffle over to the dresser to pull out a pair of sweats. “Breakfast sounds good.”

“Here.” Tony tossed a pair at him. “You can wear these. They should fit. You with that glorious booty.”

“Me?” Steve laughed. “You're the one with the...”

“With the what, Steve?” Tony teased, presenting his backside to him.

He flushed. “Your ass is the nice one.”

“Oh. You think so?”

Steve rolled his eyes, face hot. “Yes.”

“It's fine,” Tony reassured. “We can both have nice asses. What do you want?”

“What?”

“For breakfast.”

“Oh.” Steve shrugged, pulling his boxers up and slipping the sweats on. “I don't care. Whatever you want.” This was surprisingly normal. He and Tony had just had morning sex, and now it was normal. But if Tony didn't feel awkward, then he wasn't going to feel awkward. He was going to try not to feel awkward.

“Whatever Jarvis makes then!” Tony padded into the bathroom.

Sitting on the bed, waiting, Steve looked around Tony's room and made a mental note to get the painting he'd done of Tony to hang somewhere in Tony's house. He was sure there were other things that they could find to put on the walls. He'd talk to Tony about it later. When Tony was ready, Steve shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. Breakfast was hash-browns and sausage. Peter came in halfway and Clint finally stumbled down the stairs when they'd all finished.

“Food?”

“Jarvis put the leftovers in the fridge, half-pint,” Tony called from his place on the sofa next to Steve.

Steve watched Clint roll his eyes and couldn't suppress the grin. If this what was going to be living with Tony was like, then he was pretty sure everything was going to be great. “Hey, Tony. I don't have work until later this evening. What if we grab some of the stuff from my apartment and bring it over?” He looked over at Tony to see him, mouth hanging open. “Or is that too soon?”

Tony stared at him some more. “Uh. Okay. Yeah. Fine. Fine, we can do that. Take my car. Wanna drive one of my cars? Put more stuff in two. When's your lease up?”

Steve laughed. “I pay by month. So I guess, when the end of this month is up, if I—we're moved out, then that'll be the end of it.”

“That soon?” Peter asked from the floor, his attention half-focused on the video game.

“Yeah. You boys fine with that?” Steve asked casually. He watched Tony out of the corner of his eye, keeping the grin off his lips.

“Hell yeah,” Clint mumbled, joining them, plate in hand.

“Clint!” Steve reprimanded sharply. “Language!”

Clint snorted. “It's not new. I heard it every day in that shit school. So yeah. Let's get our stuff and get moved in!”

So they did. Tony bounced around Steve's apartment, putting things in boxes, getting in the way, making them laugh. Steve methodically packed things away. The immediate things. The things that he needed most immediately: clothes, toiletries, underwear. He packed a separate box of things to decorate Tony's house with. The boys grabbed stuff randomly and stuffed it into bags and duffels and their backpacks. All in all, they were in and out of the apartment in just over an hour. And at the end of the month, everything was moved into Tony's house. There was art on the wall. Tony's room looked like a room, not an example in a home magazine. The boys' rooms had morphed a bit. Clint's turned into a pit. Peter's stayed almost obsessively organised.

Steve hurried home from work and promptly draped himself on the sofa with a groan.

Tony promptly walked over and stretched himself over him. “Bad day at work?”

“ _Annoying_ day at work,” Steve grumped. 

Tony kissed him lightly. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Steve laughed. He'd decided to forego the classes this summer to give himself a break. Now that things were a bit easier. He was a bit loathe to admit it, but it was a lot easier living at Tony's. It was a completely different lifestyle than he was used to. Of course. And while Steve would never be one to say that money could buy happiness, money certainly bought him the ability to give the boys things he never would have been able to give them otherwise. Like archery lessons and gymnastics class. Only Peter decided he didn't want gymnastics after all, he preferred the parkour class they taught instead.

And Tony. Tony was more than willing to give them everything they needed. It was really too perfect. As he wrapped his arms around Tony, he wondered if this was all just a dream. A stereotypical dream. He'd wake up in his small apartment, alone with an unhappy Peter and Clint, and everything would be awful. He'd be over-stressed from working, school, parenting, and trying to get it all right.

“Hey. Steve. Steve? Yoo-hoo. Everything okay in there?”

Steve refocused on Tony and gave him a smile. “Yeah. It's just...”

“Just what?”

“You know. Too perfect?” Steve pushed his fingers through Tony's hair, still holding him tight. “Like any second. Everything's just going to fall apart.”

Tony's fond look wavered. “That's usually my thing, isn't it? Worrying too much.”

“You have no idea how much I worry,” Steve joked. “But it's fine. I'm fine. You're fine. You're  _more_ than fine. Tony, you've given us everything. We're fine.”

Tony nodded once. “You've. Steve, you guys have given me something better: family.”

“Tony...”

“No, really, Steve. It's...sappy...to say out loud. But I told you how much of a dick my dad was. My parents were...not parents. They were people saddled with a kid who didn't want one. And this...” He waved a hand at their surroundings. “This is the results of my father's empire. He made money, Steve. He didn't make love. He made machines and money and war and fighting and hurt.”

Steve pulled him snug. “You make machines too, Tony, but you're clever and kind and...and I don't know what else to say. Eccentric.”

“And by eccentric, you mean crazy?”

“You're all sorts of crazy,” Clint said, entering the room. “Jesus. You guys canoodling  _again_ . When's the honeymoon period gonna end?”

“Well you know, Clint. When two people love each other very much—”

“Oh God!” Clint clapped his hands over his ears. “La la la la la la la!”

“How are you guys scarring Clint now?” Peter asked. He padded over and joined them on the couch. “Are we gonna watch a movie? Now that you're home, Steve? We were waiting to watch Despicable Me.”

“You guys waited for me?” Steve smiled.

“Of course,” Tony said, Peter muttering, “Shove over.”

Tony squished himself against Steve's side. “Clint. Get your butt over here.”

Clint set his bow down against the wall. Steve almost laughed at the way that Clint carried the thing with him everywhere. Everywhere he  _could_ . He was surprisingly good with the thing. He had skill. And Tony's targets certainly put him through the paces. 

“Are we settled? Let's watch this. TV on,” Tony said, tucking himself under Steve's stretched out arm. He pulled Peter next to him and gestured for Clint to take the now-free space next to Peter. “Unless you want to get squishy between me and Steve.”

“Why do you talk,” Clint said, rolling his eyes while a grin tugged at his lips. “Seriously. Don't tell me anything  _ever_ about what you and Steve do.”

Steve chuckled.

“Just wait until I bring girls home and start having sex.”

“What!” Steve yelped.

“Clint, don't be gross,” Peter said, smacking his brother.

“Children,” Tony said, voice of calm. “Everyone relax. Clint, we will love you whether you bring home girls or boys. But be rest assured. If you have sex in my house, I will personally see that it is recorded and posted on every social media site. I  _will_ be watching.”

Steve pinched his thigh. He'd laugh really really loudly if he didn't. Clint's  _face_ . He bit the inside of his cheek.

“You're a monster,” Clint breathed.

“Would you like any snacks?” Jarvis asked.

Clint yelled, whirling and falling off the couch.

Steve broke. He shook silently a second before laughing, huge heaving bellows that startled Tony next to him. Tony's wide-eyed look made him laugh harder before he fell apart into laughter as well.

“Well isn't this an 'ohana' moment,” Tony wheezed out as they all laughed.

Steve looked back at Jarvis, startled to see the fondness painted all over the man's face. “I think we're okay, Jarvis. Why don't you join us.”

“I do not—”

“Jarvis,” Tony said, waving a hand at the arm chair. “Pop a squat.”

“Oh, Sir. You do have the most eloquent way with words...”

“Don't I know it. Okay. Are we ready to start this movie?” Tony asked.

Looking around Tony, Steve's cheeks hurt from his grin. Peter tucked against Tony like Tony was tucked against him, Clint had his feet draped over Peter's. Jarvis now parked in the armchair primly, they seemed to be set. “I think so.”

“Play: Despicable Me,” Tony said aloud to the room.

The credits opened with the theme music. Steve turned his head towards Tony. “I love you.”

Tony twitched his head in Steve's direction. A soft smile stole over his lips, so Steve kissed his temple.

“I love you too.”

“Stop being gross,” Clint said.

“I love you too, Clint,” Tony said.

“I love you, Tony!” Peter chimed in.

“Ugh! This love-fest is making me nauseous!” Clint warned, kicking at Tony's knee gently.

Tony laughed. “All my favourite people—minus Pepper—in one room. Couldn't be better!”

Steve smiled and quietly agreed.

“But,” Clint said quietly, just under the TV, “I love you guys too.”

Steve stayed quiet, let the moment be, basking in the warmth of his family as the movie began.


	25. Extra 1: The First Fight; This Little Problem Called the Media

 Looking at the clock, Steve sighed. Tony had been downstairs in his workshop for the better part of three days. Steve didn't know if he'd left at all. Steve knew he legitimately had work to do; R&D was clamouring for the new upgrades to the Starkphone. And Tony had a lot of work to do because there had been some glitches in the latest software that someone had screwed up (not Tony).

However, Tony was also hiding because they'd gotten into an argument. Their first argument. The first one with yelling and screaming.

It was something, ironically, that neither of them had any control over. They'd managed to keep a lid on the fact that Steve and the kids had moved in. But Steve hadn't realised how much Tony was in the spotlight. And so he'd left to pick up some ingredients for meatloaf (it was just better with fresh onions), and had run into a reporter.

It had seemed innocuous enough. She'd asked him about Tony, the company, and oh, who was he?

Steve had been stumped. He and Tony hadn't talked about their relationship. What they would say to other people. So he was kind of thrown for a loop when the question was lobbed his way. He pasted a smile across his face, staring at her while his brain chugged slowly through potential answers. She must have read some of it on his face because her grin turned more devious. “Are you the secret boyfriend?” she'd asked. Steve had blurted 'no!' but it was really really obvious and kind of horrible, so the best option seemed a tactical retreat.

AKA, Steve ran. He cursed his limp, he cursed the reporter, he cursed his freezing up, and he cursed his timing. And his lack of communication with Tony about the subject.

Needless to say, he was in a _terrible_ mood by the time that he arrived home with the necessary ingredients. He dropped them on the table and managed to attract Tony's attention on the way in. 

“Steve!” Tony said brightly, bouncing into the kitchen after him. “Today I—”

“Tony, can you just give me a few minutes. I don't...” Steve tugged the bags open and started unpacking the things.

“It's fine. Let me help you unpack stuff.” Tony hurried over and immediately got in the way.

“Tony! Just—” He took a deep breath. “Just let me do it.”

Tony gave him a look. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Bad day?”

“Yes, bad day!” Steve threw his hands up.

“Woah. Woah, okay, kemosabi. Relax. What happened? Wanna talk about it?”

“No! I _don't_ want to talk about it!” He slammed his hands down on the table.

“Woah. Okay. Chill out.” Tony put his hands up, screwing up his face. “Don't need to have a hissy fit.”

“A hissy fit. A _hissy_ fit, Tony? Really? Okay fine. You want to talk? We'll talk. Here's what happened. A _reporter_ , Tony.”

“You're fighting with me because of a reporte—”

“No, Tony! She asked— _shit_ this is going to be all over the news. She asked me what I was to you. 'The secret boyfriend,' she called me. Am I the secret boyfriend, Tony?”

“What?” Tony made a face at him. “You're hardly secret.”

“To the rest of the world I am!”

“Okay. So what do you want?” Tony asked, looking slightly nervous, anger making his eyes seem cold. “You want the world to know? You want to keep it super secret? Tell me!”

“I don't know what I want! I just wish we'd _talked_ about it so I knew what to say! Now I looked...stupid! And suspicious! And now it's going to be all over the newspapers and magazines what we're doing!”

“And what are we doing?” Tony snorted. “We're living together. And it doesn't matter what happens behind closed doors for them. It doesn't matter what the papers say. It doesn't matter what they say, it's not going to change anything.”

“I just didn't know what to say, Tony! What are we? What do you want me to tell them!”

“Whatever you want! You seem to be the one who cares more. You decide.” Tony glared at him.

“That's not the point!” Steve shouted. Shouting helped. It had never helped before.

“Okay. I think I'm lost. What _is_ the point?”

Tony's expression of polite confusion just made him angrier. “That we should _talk_ about these things before they're sprung on me!”

“How is it my fault!” Tony snapped, immediately defensive. “You've been living here for about what. Four months? We haven't had any problems so far!”

“Yeah. And in those four months we should have figured this out. Your life is everywhere, Tony. And that's going to reflect on the kids too!”

“They know who I am!”

“The sorts of things that they print in the—”

“They _know_ who I am, Steve! They're smart enough to not believe the shit that they print in the papers! Are you?”

“Am _I_?” Steve gaped. “How could you even _ask_ me that! Of all people, Tony, you should think that I wouldn't believe that crap.”

Tony snorted. “Well what am I supposed to think, Steve. I don't know what you want from me! You want me to make an announcement? Some press conference that tells people that we're sleeping together?”

“I don't care about that!” Steve shouted back. “But think about how this is going to affect the boys!”

Tony had given him a pale stare and then turned on his heel and left.

Steve sighed. It had been mostly his fault. He had snapped at Tony for no reason other than he'd panicked and taken it out on Tony. Steve sighed. Rising from the chair he'd spent the last hour stewing in, Steve limped towards the workshop. Steve knocked on the door and pushed in, the music loud enough that any noise he was making was drowned out. “Tony!” He put his fingers up to his ears. “Tony!” He grit his teeth and hurried towards him, touching his shoulder.

Tony whirled, hands coming up, materials clattering to the floor. His surprise melted into a hardness, but he leaned over his worktable and flicked the music off.

“You shouldn't listen to it so loud.”

Tony stared at him, flat and unimpressed.

“I don't want to have to shout at you to hear me by the time you're fifty.”

Tony blinked.

“What? What did I say?” Steve asked quickly.

“You think you'll still be here at fifty?”

He frowned at Tony's question, resisting the urge to fidget. Or vomit. “I... If you want me.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Tony beamed. “Great!”

“What?”

“'Cause I want you. For as long as you'll let me have you.”

Steve laughed. “Oh. Well great then.” He offered a hand to Tony. “But can we figure out... what we were fighting about?”

“Yeah. Listen. Was thinking about that.” Tony swivelled on his stool. “So if you're going to be living here, and I like you, and you like me, and we all like Peter, Clint most days, then there's no reason not to say that you're my partner. Right? 'Cause that's what we are? Two people. Working towards the same goals? Does partner work?”

“Uh. Partner.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, partner works...” Steve replied, kind of dazed.

“Great!”

“Wait, wait, wait. So now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you going to make some sort of announcement? Put it in the papers? Tell the press? What are we going to do?”

Tony looked at him blankly. “You want me to announce it?”

“Well... I don't know, actually. I mean... You're the one with all the press experience. I don't know what to do.”

Tony shrugged. “Usually it's best to take initiative with these things. So.. you know. They don't eat you alive. It can be a bit overwhelming for people who aren't used to it. Like yourself.”

“And the boys.”

“And the boys.”

“So... can we find a way to do this that does not involve scarring them and hopefully keeping privacy intact.”

Tony's gaze went a bit unfocused.

After almost two minutes of awkward silence, Steve said, “Tony?”

“Let's get married.”

He gaped.

“Too soon?” Tony said with practised casualness, the tightness around his eyes belaying his regret at saying the words aloud.

“No! Yes. No? That's...not what I was expecting,” Steve found himself blurting. “I'm not ready to respond to that.”

“So...” Tony asked, eyes intent, solemn.

He forced his mind to think, running through all the reasons and problems and _everything_. “Well. I guess it would solve most of the problems with getting the news out, and— _Tony_.”

“What? What, Cap?” Tony was still staring intently.

“Have you been thinking about this for a while?”

Tony just stared at him.

“Oh for pity's sa—” Steve rolled his eyes. “You've been thinking about it for a while. Right?”

“Uh, we don't have to—”

Steve laughed. “Tony. You're ridiculous.” He bent and cupped Tony's face in his hands and kissed him hard. “Okay. Okay. It's fine. We can.”

“What, really?” Tony's eyes were wide.

“If you were really proposing.” He allowed himself a sort of coy look.

“Okay, is this happening? Like for real?” Tony looked around.

Steve grabbed Tony's hands before he could go hysterical. “Yeah. Yes. It's real.”

“Why are you agreeing to this?”

“Why? I..” He fought the blush. “I want to be married to you.”

Tony beamed.

“If you propose properly.”

Tony flailed up from the stool and over to a drawer. He rummaged through it, pieces of metal falling to the floor. Steve winced at the clatters. But then Tony was on his knees before Steve, a ring in his dirty fingers, looking so earnest it nearly broke his heart. Steve wouldn't have it any other way. He smiled.

Tony smiled back. “So. Be stuck to me for life?”

He laughed. “Only you, Tony Stark.”

Then he surged to his feet and kissed Steve breathless, shoving the ring onto his finger.

“Hey! Hey, careful. I'm not going anywhere.”

“And that makes me a little bit the happiest man on the planet.” Tony pressed close. “So. Since I'm basically a celebrity, we'll make the announcement. Plan the wedding. Not go to the wedding and have our own little ceremony somewhere else—”

“Uh...”

Tony grinned and rolled his eyes. “Steve. As a famous person? We have to think of these things. And then we'll go on a honeymoon. Because we have to go on a honeymoon.”

Steve's grin hurt his cheeks. “Okay, okay! But what about the boys?”

“The boys. I'll adopt them! I can adopt them right? What did you do? Did you have to adopt or are you just 'next of kin' and all that important stuff? Because then I'd be their pseudo-dad and step-brother in-law? That's confusing. What do you think? Adoption would look better for the press? Maybe? Yes. I think it would. And would give me some legal clout in case something happens.”

“Uh...Sure?” So while Steve agreed, everything quickly became a shit-storm of DO! DO! DO! and he was left doing tasks shoved at him.

For a while, the media was an absolute madhouse, and Tony hired security to take the boys everywhere. Which, incidentally, they hated. The poor guys ended up chasing the boys more than they spent guarding them. Tony assured him that the men were well-payed and trustworthy. And Steve believed him. 

The press didn't slow down, however, as their wedding date approached, and some days, it was all Steve could do to get near the windows. There were days where Tony took pity on him and they stayed at home while the boys went to school and lazed in bed, Steve taking comfort in the feel of skin and scent of his fiancé. And wasn't that a weird word to say. 

Tony got antsy as their date approached. Steve, honestly, was more relieved to have to take care of Tony than worry about himself. It gave him something other than The Date to worry about. He panicked a little as Tony let slip all these details of an ostentatious ceremony. But then Tony winked at him and reminded him of their secret ceremony. Steve rolled his eyes.

When it happened, it kind of passed in a blur of “Get ready; here we go; I do; Congratulations!” before they were bundled into a car and headed to the airport to board a StarkJet to some small tropical island that Tony bought them for a wedding present. 

Which was, of course, ridiculous. Steve maybe looked disapproving for a whole two minutes because BEACH. And Tony tackled him to the giant comfy bed that was all theirs.

“And,” Tony said, rolling off of him when they were done, “you are not to worry about the boys. They're with Sam and Jen. So no worrying. Right?”

Steve waited a second before grinning widely. “Okay. Only if you promise to spend every second on me.”

“Ooh, being selfish for once?” Tony rested a hand on his belly.

“Yes. I'm claiming you all to myself. Being a selfish newly-wed. And all that.”

“Very well, Mr. Stark. I am, entirely, at your service.” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “ _Entirely_ at your service.”

Steve enjoyed his honeymoon very much. 


	26. Extra 2: A Healthy Reaction to Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, go ahead and head back to ch2, I added in a picture of the layout of Steve's apartment.

 Tony noticed something was wrong about four months after they were married and returned from their honeymoon.

At first he thought it was him. Which promptly sent him into panicked overload mode, and he subtly hovered and was extra attentive to Steve.

Which of course lead to Steve being short with him and more irritable than usual, snapping not only at him, but also Clint and Peter. So Tony tried to fix it like he fixed everything when out of his depth: he threw money at it. Took Steve out to nice places. Tried. The second time he took Steve somewhere nice, Steve baulked on the pavement and refused to go in, giving him a stony look.

“What? What's the matter?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets to refuse the urge to—God forbid—wring them.

“Tony. Why are you buying me off again?”

“I'm not!” he said a little too hysterical.

“You are,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest, looking damn impressive in his button up and slacks.

Tony looked around quickly and then dragged Steve back towards the car, shoving him in. “What am I doing wrong?” he demanded, turning on the seat to face Steve.

“You're smothering, Tony.”

“I'm sorry! Tell me what I'm doing wrong! Why? Why do I need to smother. Do I need to give you air? Do I need to back off? I can back off? Totally can back off, but I—”

“Stop!” Steve threw up his hands and then smacked them on his face, dragging down until his face pulled grotesquely. “I... It's not you, Tony.”

“Oh God. Oh God, 'it's me.'”

“What? No! I just told you it's _not_ you.”

“No, you're giving me the 'it's not you, it's me' speech!”

“Tony! Jesus, calm down.” Steve grabbed his wrists.

Tony felt better at the contact.

“It's me because I'm freaki—I'm not freaking out. Well I am. But I'm not unhappy with you. Understand? You're great. Just keep doing what you're doing, only not at this level. Do less of this level, more what you usually do. Okay?”

Tony stared at him, gave the car a cursory once-over, then looked back at Steve. “Uh. Okay. What are you freaking out about?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It's just... I'm...” He heaved a sigh.

“Come on. Spit it out, Cap.” When that didn't induce the appropriate eye-roll, Tony shifted again, closer to Steve. “What's wrong?”

“It's just... Bucky died this month.”

“Bucky. The guy you were with. Your first—”

“ _Not_ my first. We didn't...”

“Love, was gonna say 'love.'”

Steve nodded once, hands twisting in his lap. He didn't look up. “This is... I'm sorry. It's my fault. I don't know how—I usually handle this on my own.”

“Getting drunk and passing out shit-faced on the sofa?”

Steve blinked at him and barked a laugh. “Uh. No. Well. Kind of yeah. Visit his grave, drink until I'm drunk, catch a cab back home. My apartment. I don't know how to do it with another person.”

Tony grinned at him, an unhappy thing. “S'alright. My... My friend _...best_ friend Rhodey died. Later this year. So you can help me through that. Fucking military.”

“Not the military,” Steve corrected sharply. “The wars.”

“Yeah,” Tony said softly. “Wars.” He waited another half a second before continuing, “What can I do to help?”

Steve gave him the soft smile, the one that told Tony that everything was good. Everything was sweet and lovely and all other things that made him think of that limerick about little girls. “Just be patient with me.”

“Want me to go to the cemetery with you?”

Steve's shoulders hunched over and he looked insecure a minute before straightening again and nodding once. “Sure. That'd...okay.” Steve reached over to Tony and grabbed his hands. “I'd like that.”

Tony grinned. “Okay. Okay. That sounds good.”

“I think he would have hated you,” Steve said with a small smirk. “At first. After the two of you worked out your differences though, I think you would have gotten along.”

“Uh. Okay. Um. Do you still want dinner?”

Steve sighed and laughed softly. “Well, we can't waste the babysitter...”

Tony grinned. “Awesome.” So they had their expensive dinner, and Tony let Steve buy him ice cream at a little hole-in-the-wall place.

Tony promptly went home and researched 'James Barnes' before joining Steve in bed. Of course, that wasn't what he told him... He maybe regretted it a little bit, because damn, no wonder why Steve was messed up over it. He scooted into bed with Steve and held him tight, kissing the back of his neck right where Steve liked it—about two inches up from where neck turned to shoulder. He kissed until Steve started squirming. He kissed until Steve rolled on top of him. Then he kissed Steve's lips while they rode one another's thigh until they came. Steve pulled him tight to his chest and they drifted off to sleep, neither suffering nightmares.

Almost a month later, Tony went with Steve to the cemetery, awkward and uncomfortable as he watched Steve tear up and try not to cry. He eventually went for broke by breaking down and squatting in front of Bucky's grave, gripping the headstone tight.

Tony hovered, indecisive, before finally setting a hand on Steve's shoulder. Which Steve promptly covered with his own, squeezing tight.

The boys off with Sam and Jenny, Tony broke out the good stuff and they shared a drink, Tony just listening to Steve talk about his friend until he was hoarse and drunk. When Steve was done talking, Tony tucked him into bed and then curled around him and went to sleep.

 

Nearly four months later, when Steve had to do the same for Tony, it didn't turn out so clean. Tony was jittery and had trouble focusing for the six weeks leading up. He went nuts in the cemetery in front of Rhodey's grave, screaming and ranting dry-eyed while Steve huddled by the car. Finally, Steve must have not been able to take much more of Tony's mania because he limped over and wrapped Tony in his strong arms and made soothing noises in Tony's ear until he lost all of his momentum. He sagged in Steve's arms, sobbing until he was dry. Then fell limp along Steve's side until they were home again and he drank himself stupid.

From what he remembered the next morning, he sucked Steve's dick. After he gave him an ill-thought out lap dance. He puked in a plant. Jarvis was going to be _so_ pleased. And then he may have crashed going up the stairs.

He groaned when light wormed through his eyelids. Steve immediately made soothing noises at him.

“Morning, Tony...”

“Steeeeeeeeve,” he groaned. “Never let me drink that much again...”

“But you got angry when I took the bottle away...” his husband teased.

“I hate yoooou....”

“No you don't, baby.”

“Don't call me that.”

Steve chuckled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “How about a shower, and I'll make breakfast. The boys will probably be home soon.”

He made some noises that were reminiscient of swamp monsters and flopped an arm over his eyes.

“What about shower, shower sex, and then breakfast?”

He cracked an eye.

“I'll suck you off...” Steve offered with a grin. He was blushing. Oh he was blushing. Steve still couldn't say that type of thing without blushing.

Tony grinned. “I like that deal. Sold.” He dropped his arm and levered himself out of bed. He groaned as he stretched, swallowing the Advil Steve had left on the bedside table. “You're a godsend.”

Steve grinned, rolling over to get out on Tony's side of the bed and kissing his forehead. “You okay?” he asked when he pulled back, studying Tony's face.

He gave him a tired smile. “I'll be alright, Cap. Thanks. For everything.”

“Hey, you were there for me. Least I could do is return the favour.”

Tony mumbled syllables that didn't make sense, even to him, and smooshed his face into Steve's neck. “You're so good to me...” Steve's chuckle rumbled through his skin and he smiled. “Too good to me.”

“Come along, husband mine. To the shower. You smell like vomit and stale sweat,” Steve said, swatting his ass and then pulling away.

“You always know how to flatter me.” But Tony followed him into the bathroom, dropping clothes that Steve was going to yell at him for later, but he didn't care. Because Steve was going to suck his dick. And Steve had learned _very_ well when Tony taught him. _Very_. Well.


	27. Extra 3: Graduation

 Steve wasn't afraid Tony was going to cry at Clint's high school graduation. Steve was a little bit afraid _he_ was going to cry at Clint's high school graduation. Peter had been sneaking sly little looks at him two weeks preceding the event. Ever since the tickets came in the mail, really. Tony was strutting around the house—mansion—like a proud peacock, already having an extravagant party planned, inviting all sorts of people and all of Clint's friends. That was his compromise for _not_ buying Clint a car. Because really. The boy was going to earn that. Besides, with Happy around, it wasn't like he really needed a car anyway. 

Though really, Steve was just panicking. Clint had grown up well. Took the archery like a house on fire. And it had given him a focus and drive that nothing else had. They'd been so proud when Clint won his first competition. And now, as a senior in high school, Clint was self-confident, smart, and accepted at Berkley, all on his own. He would be upset if Clint were going all the way across country. But Tony insisted that it would all be fine. Besides he had private use of a jet and they could drop in on Clint any time they wanted. Clint had groaned and muttered, “Clearly, I'm not going far enough.”

Tony had just laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately. 

So Clint had grown up someone Steve was proud of, and now he was off to college.

“Relax,” Tony said, slipping into bed next to him night before the ceremony. “Clint will be fine in college.”

“How do you know?”

Tony laughed. “You're like... ten seconds from actually biting your fingernails, aren't you. Dude. Clint's going to be fine. He's got a smart head on his shoulders. He won't get himself into (much) trouble, and besides. He's never going to disappoint you on purpose.”

“What?”

Tony rolled his eyes as he rolled onto Steve. “You know he looks up to you.”

“Well, I guess.”

“You're his role model, Steve. He's going to try to make you proud. Always has. Why I try to do the same. You're good. You inspire it in others.”

He blushed. “I don't—”

“You do, Cap. You do,” Tony interrupted fondly. “Now. Am I gonna have to sneak in an extra box of tissues?”

“I'm not going to cry.”

“Suuuure.” Then Tony yawned, jaw cracking. “Ugh. Long day of sitting and doing nothing.”

“At least the class size is small.”

“Thank God, yeah,” Tony agreed, grinning. He wormed his arms around Steve's torso and nestled into him. “G'night.”

“Good night, Tony.” Steve wrapped his arms around his favourite blanket and smiled into his hair. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

Tony woke him with a blow-job. Steve was late into the shower and late to get ready. 

They still made it out the door in time. 

Tony charmed them into good seats and then settled into play with his phone while they waited for 'Pomp and Circumstance' to start playing. It was a long time coming, but when it started, Steve elbowed Tony to put his phone away and he sat a little straighter. Steve watched Tony's fingers drum along his thighs. 

“Relax,” Steve murmured to him.

Tony's fingers stilled, but then his feet tapped.

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips. Next to him, Peter grinned unrepentant.

Tony looked over and smiled. “I'm good. Stop fussing.”

Tony fidgeted through the entire ceremony until Clint's name was called. Then he was still.

Steve looked over at him, touched and maybe a little appalled that Tony's eyes were suspiciously bright. Then he sniffled. While Steve was proudly dry-eyed. He shook his head. Would wonders never cease? Steve reached over and gave Tony's hand a squeeze.

Tony didn't look at him, raising his chin and sniffing suspiciously.

“It's okay,” Steve whispered, leaning in. “I won't tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” Tony whispered back.

“That you cried a—”

“Not. Crying,” Tony whispered back fiercely, not looking at Steve.

“Okay, Tony.” He straightened again and smiled.

Clint walked up to them, diploma in hand. He smiled and flourished it towards Tony. “Ta-da.”

Tony jerked forward and wrapped Clint up in a bear-hug.

“Smothering! Smothering!” Clint choked. “Also embarrassing! Get off!”

Tony pulled back and was grinning wildly. “Congrats, half-pint!”

“I'm almost as tall as you!” Clint challenged.

“And you're not going to rub it in!” Tony said cheerfully, slinging an arm around his neck. “Ready for a party?”

They got back to Tony's—now their—house and settled in for Tony's party, full of music and people and lots of noise. Clint couldn't have been more pleased with it. He even got a kiss from his crush, Natasha.

Steve did cry, however, on the jet ride home from dropping Clint off at college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have suggestions for 'Extras,' then leave me a comment! I'll see if it strikes a chord for the muse!


	28. Extra 4: Hearts Will Heal

 As soon as Peter came home, Tony could tell something was wrong. Peter was a sophomore in high school. Clint was in his freshman year (Texas A&M. Clint was going for Ocean Sciences, of all things—Tony was sure it would change. And it was far, but they had the best archery programme around, and Clint was in line to compete for a spot at the summer Olympics. Steve was over the moon.), and everything had, tearlessly, gone smoothly moving him in earlier that fall. (Until a week after Clint had been there when Tony had to talk Steve down from tears, and convince him that calling Clint every night was a Bad Move. Thankfully, for all of them, Steve listened.)

But Peter stomping in the door and throwing his backpack on the floor was New and Different.

“Pete...?” Tony called, wandering towards the front hall.

“I don't want to talk about it!” he shouted, stalking towards the stairs.

Tony caught a glimpse of reddened eyes and a flushed face and quietly retreated. Heartbreak. Had to be. He'd better warn Steve.

_Warning. Peter heartbroken. Will be fine. Just don't ask him about it,_ he texted.

A few minutes later, his phone bleeped. 

_Oh no! What do we do? Is he okay? What did he say?_

Tony laughed.  _Peter will be FINE. Don't worry. Let me handle this one._

_Okay. I'll trust you to do that..._

_Thanks, Steve. See you soon?_

_Yes. Gallery set-up is finished, thank you. I'll be home by dinner._

Tony put his phone away and let Peter alone for another half hour. He then wandered upstairs and knocked on Peter's door, leaning against the frame.

“Go away, Tony.”

“Okay,” Tony said mildly. “But only after you tell me what's the matter.”

“I don't want to talk to you,” Peter grumbled from the other side of the door.

“Something go wrong with Gwen?”

“I  _said_ I don't want to talk about it, Tony!”

Tony hummed and examined his nails. Peter would cave. Another...three volleys. Tops. “I know. But trust me... A man knows something about heartbreak, it would be me.”

Silence.

“You wanna tell me what happened? I could always ruin their credit score...”

“I don't want that!” Peter exclaimed, throwing his door open. His nose was red and his voice a little rough. 

Tony nodded, suppressing a grin. Peter's suffering was far from funny, but his predictability was too hilarious. Peter glared at him before he could say anything though.

“You think this is  _funny_ !” He growled and made to slam the door.

Tony got there faster. He stuck a foot in the way and shouldered his way into Peter's room. “She break up with you?”

“You think I'm gonna talk about this with you?”

“Would you rather talk with Steve?” Tony asked simply.

Peter dropped his eyes and stopped fighting him on getting in. “I hate you, you know.”

“No you don't, but okay. She break your heart?”

“Yes, she broke up with me,” Peter hissed. 

“Want a hug?” Tony asked, cocking his head.

Peter opened his mouth to make some sort of snappy come back, but then he ducked his chin and nodded once.

Tony opened his arms and snugged them tight around Pete when the kid entered them. “It's aright. You'll find somebody better. Hotter. Smarter. She'll keep you in line.”

Peter snorted but tightened his grip around Tony.

“In fact, maybe she'll—”

“Tony.... Shut up.”

Tony closed his mouth and rested his chin on the top of Peter's head. “It'll be fine.”

“How do you know...?” Peter grumbled. 

“You think Steve's the first person I've loved?” Tony chuckled softly, rubbing a hand up and down the kid's back. “You won't forget her. But you'll stop loving her. Or having feelings for her. She'll be your first love, and you'll have fond memories about her... But you'll move on. And you'll find someone else.”

“That's... actually good advice...” 

Despite the grudging approval, Tony gave him a squeeze. “I'm full of all sorts of good advice, quarter-pint.”

Peter pulled back with a fond glare. “Except for the time when you had me swinging from the loft.”

Tony flushed and ducked his head. “Well yeah. That was maybe—”

“And the time that you told me to tell my physics teacher was an idiot?”

“Okay, but I di—”

“And what about when I told you about parent/teacher conferences, and, despite what I told you, you decided to come in wearing—”

“Okay!” Tony protested. “Okay! Fine! Maybe not all of my advice is good! But I try.”

Peter gave him a wide grin. “Yeah. And I appreciate it. Thanks, Tony. I feel better about it now.”

“Good,” Tony said with relief. “Because I told Steve I'd take care of it.”

“Take care of it?”

“Oh, don't look like that...” He rolled his eyes and stretched his arms up. “Wanna pop a movie in and see if we can get Steve to agree to pizza in front of the TV for dinner?”

Peter gave an exaggerated gasp, slapping a hand to his cheek. “And ruin American traditions everywhere?”

Tony snickered.

“If I look pathetic, he'll agree to it.”

Tony beamed. “That's my boy! Quick! Let's drip some more water down your face; he'll be here soon.”

Peter laughed, and Tony considered Operation Cheer-Up-Peter a success as he dragged his...he still wasn't sure what to call him: son? Not really. Little brother was weird too. He wasn't a cousin. He wasn't a nephew... Whatever he was, Tony dragged him to the bathroom and then they were stumbling down the stairs when Steve entered the room. Tony almost laughed at his subdued expression, worry creasing his forehead.

“I was thinking,” Tony said soberly, his arm resting around Peter's shoulders, “that we might watch a movie over dinner.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Tony just arched his brows high, meaningfully at Peter.

Peter sniffled.

God, he loved the kid. 

Steve melted and agreed quickly, saying Peter could choose anything he wanted. He and Tony would call for dinner. “Is he okay?” Steve asked as soon as he had dragged Tony into the kitchen. 

“He's fine, Steve,” Tony reassured. “He's a little upset because he and Gwen broke up, but he'll be fine. I talked him through it, and he even said my advice was good!”

Steve's brows shot up before he put a more appropriately-supportive expression on his face. “Great...!”

Tony whacked his arm. “Call Luigi's for pizza, you dork. My card's in my pocket.” He grinned and presented his ass to Steve, wiggling it.

Steve shook his head and obediently smacked it before pulling Tony's credit card out and slipping it into his own pocket.

“No wait, better thought: You sit, looks like your leg's bothering you. I'll answer the door. But you still make the call.”

“You're a pain...” Steve said lovingly, phone already cradled between his ear and shoulder.

Tony left him to it and then kissed him hard before Steve went to sit with Peter. The pizza arrived quickly, and it, and the movie, were a success, so to speak. Then Peter wandered upstairs to work on homework. Leaving Steve and Tony on the couch. Cuddling. 

“He really okay?”

“You're still worried, Cap?” Tony joked, tipping sideways and taking Steve down with him.

“Oof! Of  _course_ I'm worried... He's... my little brother.” Steve tucked himself behind Tony, wrapping his arms around him and holding him to his chest the way Tony liked. Not that he'd ever admit aloud that he liked being little spoon...

“Yeah, about that. I'm never sure what to call him... Either of the kids. Bro-in-laws? Weird. Sons? Uh, no. It's weird.”

“Tony...”

“I know, I know. Don't worry. He's fine. Really. We poured some fake water tears down his face, to get you to let us watch a movie during dinner.”

“Tony!” Steve said with a bark of laughter. He gave his ass a sharper swat than last time. “What sort of influence is that!”

He just laughed, squirming to turn onto his back and face Steve. “It worked! I cheered him up. He even laughed. Relax, Cap. He's just a kid.”

Steve's sternness melted away, and he huffed a sigh and shook his head. “Just this once, you'll get away with it...”

“What,” he teased, “not gonna smack my ass and call me a 'bad boy'?” He laughed at how red Steve's face got, even after all this time, when he teased him about sex.

“Stop it...” Steve mumbled. “You want to cuddle or not?”

“Tony Stark doesn't cuddle,” he sniffed.

“Oh really?” Steve drawled. “Then Tony Stark doesn't get to lie on the sofa with Steven Stark.” And made to shove him off.

“Woah! Woah! Kidding! Tony Stark  _totally_ cuddles with Steven Stark!” he blurted, grabbing at Steve so he didn't fall off. 

Steve chuckled and muscled him back close, holding him tight. “You know... I don't think I've ever said...”

“Uh-oh.”

“Oh hush,” Steve chided. “I don't think I've ever told you how much it means to me that you're so good to the boys, and that you obviously love them.”

He ducked his head against Steve's chest, feeling his face heat.

“It means the world to me, Tony...” Steve murmured into his hair. 

“You're a package deal....” he muttered. 

“Well, maybe, but most people—”

“I know,” Tony cut him off. “I get it, Steve. You're embarrassing me. I love the boys, and I love you. It was no question.”

Steve chuckled. “Still. I love you, and I'm grateful. For everything. It's a little bit like a Cinderella story except the step-mother—”

“Father.”

“—is everything a person could want.”

“Jesus, Steve...” he muttered,  _sure_ his face was cherry-red. “Warn a guy before you overload him with praise...”

Steve laughed. “But then you won't turn so red!”

Snorting, Tony smacked his arm. “Jerk.”

“Love you too.”

“Peter Rogers is scarred by this sickening behaviour...”

Tony and Steve jerked apart on reflex as Peter walked by to the kitchen.

“No, no. As you were. Don't mind me. Just 'cause I'm unlucky in love doesn't mean that you guys don't deserve to be blisteringly happy...”

“Sorry,” Steve said quickly.

“Not sorry!” Tony said just as quickly.

“Love you guys too...” Peter said with a wry smile. 

As Tony lay back down with Steve, the TV quiet noise in the background, Tony smiled to himself. He'd done a pretty good job collecting a family for himself. A damn good one.


	29. Extra 5: For Safety Precautions

They'd never celebrated father's day. Why would they? Steve wasn't a father. Tony certainly wasn't a father. And none of them really had any father to look up to, to celebrate. So they ignored it for years. This year, however, Peter and Clint were both going to be home from college.

Now that Peter was a freshman, he kind of understood where people got off talking about 'empty nest syndrome.' While it meant he had glorious amounts of time to spend with Steve, have sex with Steve, and nap in various states of undress around the house, it also meant that there were no boys to hang out with. And as they'd gotten older, he'd enjoyed Peter's wry punny quips and Clint's sarcastic biting wit. Peter was clever and shared his passion for the sciences. Clint was also clever in the same practical way as Steve, always finding a solution and doing it with flair. Which Tony could appreciate.

So he was looking forward to his boys, as he'd really come to think of them, being home. Tony made sure their room were straightened. He froze as Steve happened to catch him coming out of Peter's room.

“Tony?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” Steve shifted to try and look over Tony's shoulder.

“N-nothing.”

“Tony.”

“No seriously!” he protested. “I'm just making sure their rooms are kinda neat. You know. Before the boys get home.”

Steve's expression shifted from suspicious to soft. He shook his head with a chuckle. “That's... That's nice. Really nice, Tony.”

He smiled. “Of course. Because I'm a nice guy.”

Steve just chuckled. “I was just coming to find you for lunch.”

“You cooked?”

“Well, if you call slapping condiments and meat on two pieces of bread cooking...”

Laughing, Tony rocked up on his toes to give Steve a kiss and then walk with him towards the kitchen. “So... I was thinking?”

“Uh-oh.”

“That joke is way too old,” Tony griped. “But really. I...want to do something nice for Jarvis. I was... I mean, he's not my dad. And—well, he's the closest thing I had, emotionally, to a dad, and I wanted to...I dunno. Make dinner for him. And I thought it'd be nice, what with the boys being home and all, to sit down, and he wouldn't have to do anything.”

Steve sank into his chair with his sandwich, looking thoughtful.

“You don't like it.”

He made a face. “Of course I like it. Why would I not like it?”

Tony shook his head. “I dunno. So could you like... distract him or something? Take him out? I think he's doing laundry or something.” He waved a hand and then leaned over the table, fixing Steve with an expectant stare.

“Um. Yeah. I think it's a great idea,” Steve replied warmly. “I'll take Jarvis out for shopping or something. Do we need anything?”

“I don't even care, make it up. Steve, you're the best.” Tony stood and bent over the table to kiss Steve softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Tony. Now eat your sandwich.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Hush.”

Tony laughed.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Tony waved Steve and Jarvis off, smiling faintly as he pretended to be absorbed in work on his tablet. As soon as they were gone for five minutes, however, Tony ran to the kitchen and began working on putting dinner together. He had planned filet Mignon since he knew Jarvis liked the fancy dish. With a side Greek salad, which Jarvis also liked, and some white chocolate and macademia nut cookies for dessert. The first batch of cookies turned out shitty, so he remade them. The meat went in fine, and while it was cooking, Tony zipped out to the airport to pick up Clint. Peter, thankfully, was getting a ride from a friend.

“How's school?” Tony asked him, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“Fine. Fine.”

“Archery.”

“Awesome.”

He grinned. “Figured.” After a minute of easy silence, Tony looked at him and said, “I'm making dinner. For Jarvis. So you'll be around tonight, right?”

Clint looked at him, brows raised.

“I know he's not my dad, bu—”

“No, I get it. He means a lot to you.

Tony blinked and then smiled again, the unease dissipating. “Yeah. Yeah he does. And I'd like you and Pete to be around for dinner? To share it?”  
Clint flashed him a grin. “I think I can manage that.”

“Awesome. Gotta get back to my meat when I get home.”

“What are we having?”

“Greek salad, filet Mignon, and cookies.”

“Huh. No poisoning this time?”

“Hey! No one was hurt. And nothing happened. Shut up.”

Snickering, Clint elbowed him across the console of the car and kicked his feet up on the dashboard.

“Just be grateful I came to get you myself; I could have sent Happy...” Tony groused fondly. “And get your dirty feet off there. Betty deserves better treatment than that.”

“You need to stop naming your cars after forties pin-up models.”

Tony leaned over and smacked Clint's leg. “Off!”

“Alright, alright.”

When they arrived home, the meat was still fine, cooking, so Tony finished the salad and stuck it in the fridge for storage until dinner. His nerves starting to prick as it got closer to six, Tony had the cookies out by four, tasted one, was satisfied, and then went to the set the table while the meat continued to simmer.

Clint came down to help him with the table, putting out the placemats and setting silverware. “It smells really good, Tony.”

“Does it? You're not lying to me? Because that'd be great,” he babbled.

“You've got a nose, haven't you?” Clint scoffed. “It smells good. So I'm sure it'll be fine. Geeze, relax.”

“I'm relaxed.”

“No,” Clint said wryly. “You're freaking out. Jarvis has dealt with enough of your shenanigans that I'm sure you making him dinner won't even dent what you have to make up to the man.”

Pouting, Tony felt some of his panic recede as he paused in setting out wine glasses. “You're mean.”

“I'm practical. And you like it.”

Tony shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, cut off by the bell. “Peter!” Clint followed him to the door as Tony threw it open. “What's the matter? You lose your key?”

Pete waved at the car that was pulling out of the drive and then gave Tony a hug. “No. It's just in the bottom of my bag and I don't want to dig it out.”

“Well, come on. In we go,” he said, ushering the boys into the main hall, grinning. “Good to have you home.”

Clint and Peter exchanged a hug and a smile before Peter said, “Yeah. Good to be home. Definitely good to be home.”

“School rough?”

“Ehn,” Peter shrugged. “Not too terrible. Man, what smells good?”

“Did you text him?” Tony accused Clint.

“Jesus, get a grip,” Clint laughed. He turned to Pete. “Tony's cooking.”

Whistling low and shocked, Peter looked at him. “Old dog learned new tricks?”

“Shut up. Both of you. We're having dinner together whether you like it or not. Steve and Jarvis should be back soon. Shit.” Tony smacked himself on the forehead as he remembered the gift he'd gotten Jarvis. Down in the workshop. “Go check on the meat. _Don't_ steal a cookie, those are for dessert. I'll be right back. Grab a bottle of wine from the cooler! A good one!” Tony called over his shoulder as he trotted down to his workshop. That was the one place Jarvis never cleaned. So, the box with the Tissot watch was definitely safe from discovery. He smuggled it back upstairs, hiding it on his chair, behind the drape of the tablecloth so it wouldn't be seen.

“Master Stark! I wish you would just—”

“Jarvis! Let it go! It's fine!”

Smiling at the exasperated tones of his husband and his butler, Tony straightened and hurried towards the front hall where the two of them stood laden down with bags. “Clint! Peter! Come and help us with the groceries please!”

“Did you switch over from Peapod?” Peter asked, sliding gracefully down the bannister.

“I wanted to do actual shopping,” Steve said, clearly stressed.

Smiling, Tony went over and gave him a kiss. “My boys. Just in time for dinner.”

“Nice to see you're both still gross,” Clint said, grabbing bags quickly from Jarvis. “I got it, man.”

“Thank you, Master Clint. I—” Jarvis paused and sniffed into the air. “What... Anthony! Did you...cook?”

“Okay. Just because I choose not to, doesn't mean I can't! Everyone knows this!” he protested. “Honestly! Let's just...get the food stuffs put away, and then everybody come and sit for dinner.” Tony stalked into the kitchen, everyone trooping after. They got the bags emptied and put away before Tony shooed them out and pulled the filets out, pleased with their tenderness. “Jarvis! Go. Sit.” He waved the man away when he poked his head into the kitchen again.

“Tony,” Steve said.

“Salad.” Taking it, Steve vanished back through to the dining room. Tony took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and headed into the dining room. “Ta-da!”

Clint laughed. “Jesus, you look like you're about to face a firing squad.”

“Clint,” Steve chastened.

Jarvis looked up at him. “Master Anthony...”

“C'mon, Jarvis,” Tony said gently, as he set the platter down. “Just a few of your favourites...”

“Sir...”

“Shut up. I'm talking,” he said quickly. “Where the hell is Peter?”

“Here!” he chirped, scooting into a seat quickly, unfurling his napkin to place in his lap. “Looks great, Tony!”

“Thanks...” he drawled. “Anyway. One moment...” Pouring the wine for them all—“Just a special occasion,” Tony clarified to Steve as he poured a small amount for Peter. “Anyway...” Back by his seat, Tony cleared his throat and lifted his glass. “I know nobody here is a father, but I wanted to thank Jarvis for his years of service.” He stared at the table a moment. “You're the closest thing I had.”

“Sir—Anthony...” Jarvis protested, his face soft with emotion.

“Stop.” He held up a hand and took another deep breath. “It means a lot to me. So... So I just wanted to say...um. Thank you. For everything.” Tony sat quickly, draining half his glass. The present relocated to beneath his chair until they were finished with dessert, Tony looked at Steve gratefully when the man squeezed his knee.

Dinner was easy, what with everyone having new stories to tell about school and work and everything. As the main course wound down, Tony snuck back to the kitchen and got the plate of cookies.

“Oh, Sir,” Jarvis breathed, pressing a hand to his chest when he saw what they were. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He grinned as the cookies were passed around, keeping a grin pasted on his face. “I think they came out alright.”

Jarvis bit in and sighed. “They're perfect.”

“Really good,” Peter added, stuffing a whole one in his mouth.

He cleared his throat. “I...uh. I have something else for you, Jarvis.”

“Sir?”

“Oh don't look so shocked...” Tsking, Tony reached under his chair and retrieved the box to hand it over.

Jarvis unwrapped the paper and pulled the Tissot box out. “Anthony...” he breathed, flipping it open.

“Yeah, sorry if I hacked your browser history, but...” His grin turned sheepish. Flicking a glance at Steve when the man's hand touched his knee again, Tony gave him a soft smile.

“Sir, this is...”

“It's a 'thank you,' and if you refuse it,” he insisted, “I will be very unhappy.”

Swallowing tightly, the man nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

“As always, my pleasure, Jarvis.” Beaming all around, Tony continued, “Alright! So—”

“Actually!” Peter interrupted, sharing a look with Clint. “Um. We've got our own...gesture of appreciation.”

Frowning, unease settling in the pit of his stomach, Tony relaxed back into his chair. “Okay..?”

“Um...”

“Just give it to him,” Clint muttered, elbowing Pete.

Diving beneath _his_ chair, Peter pulled out a manilla envelope. “Here. It's... It's from Clint and I.”

Huffing a small laugh to cover his confusion, Tony accepted it and flipped open the flap. Pulling out the thin sheaf of paper, his eyes went wide, breath catching in his chest. “What...?” he croaked, the flood of emotion cutting off his voice. Looked to Steve. “Did you...”

“Tony?”

Standing abruptly, Tony carefully set down the adoption papers that listed him as Clint and Peter's father and fled.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Slumping against the door of the closest bathroom, Tony pushed his shaking hands into his hair, ignoring the surprised cries behind him and Clint's 'What the hell!?' and Peter's 'I thought—' He wouldn't have much time before Steve would give chase. But sliding down and dropping his head between his knees, Tony took in rasping breaths that caught on everything on the way in, dragging right back out.

The boys had adopted themselves to him.

They...

He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Then Steve rapped at the door. “Tony?”

He shut his eyes and tried to hold back the well of desperate tears that burned his eyes.

“Tony? Can I come in please? Tony.”

Clint Barton Stark and Peter Parker Stark.

That's what they'd done.

They'd tied themselves to him. For the rest of their lives.

“Tony. If you don't open the door, I'm crashing through it,” Steve threatened. Though there was an edge to hysteria to his voice.

Swallowing and swiping his wrist across his eyes, he moved away from the door and unlocked it so Steve could enter.

“Tony...” the man said gently, kneeling next to him. “What's wrong? What's the matter?”

“They're...” He swallowed around the brokenness of his voice. “Why did they do that?”

“It wasn't meant to piss you off...” Peter said in a small voice, crowding at the door next to Clint.

He paled. “Shit! No! Fuck, you thin—God no!” Tony scrambled to his feet, stepping towards Peter, holding back last minute. “I love you guys. Why would you...why would you _do_ this?”

“Because we love you too,” Peter said, inching closer to wrap his arms around Tony's chest.

Grabbing the kid tight, Tony pushed his face into Peter's hair. “I love you guys so much.”

“I mean, you're technically our uncle...” Clint said softly.

“Which doesn't matter,” Peter added.

“But you're family, is the main point,” the other said stoutly. “And we wanted to make it legal and official.” He shrugged like it wasn't important. “And, you know. In case stuff happens. So you can speak for us. In case we can't, in medical emergencies. And Steve's not availa—”

“Nothing's going to happen!” Tony said fiercely. Pulling back from Peter, he gave Clint a look and wiped at his face surreptitiously.

“Are you—”

“Shut up, Clint,” Tony said quickly, voice tight and aching. “You're just trying to get my fortune aren't you...”

Laughing a bit hesitantly, Peter edged close to Tony again. “I thought we were getting that anyway.”

“Ingrate,” Tony grumbled roughly. Snagging Clint's arm, he pulled the kid close, enfolding the two boys in his arms. “You know you're tied to me now, right? No take-backs.”

“We don't want 'em,” Clint murmured.

Steve's arms wrapped around all three of them, binding them in tight.

“Awww, (dysfunctional) family moment,” Peter muttered into Tony's chest.

“I love you all,” Steve said warmly.

“Oh my God. Okay. Enough. Too much love for the bathroom,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “Everybody out.” They all filed out of the bathroom to find Jarvis waiting outside, worry faint in the lines of his face. “Aw, Jarvis. Did you want a hug too?”

“No, Sir,” he said dryly. “The food you prepared was quite enough. Shall I frame the certificate?”

“Um...” Tony blinked, narrowing his eyes at the boys. “How did you get my signature on there?”

Flushing and ducking his head, Peter mumbled something.

“Sorry, what?”

“We printed it out and traced it,” Clint said proudly.

“Oh God. You could steal all of my money and I'd not be able to prove it.” He stared at them. “Regular criminals you are.”

Laughing, Steve pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek. “Are you done with your freak out?”

“I think I'm done, yes. I'm good.”

“Great. I think we should all go back and have another cookie, and then we can relax and maybe watch a movie? Play a game? We haven't played cards in a while.”

“That's because Tony always counts,” Clint whined as he headed back towards the table.

“Joining us, Jarvis?”

“I think not, Master Stark. I shall be rescuing my kitchen from whatever mess Master Anthony has made.”

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I specifically left it nice and clean for you.”

“I suspect, Sir,” Jarvis continued wryly, “that I shall have to clean it again, regardless.”

“I resent that.”

“Resemble it,” Peter said with a laugh as he skipped back to the table.

Watching his family—and they were his family, all of them, for real now—Tony grinned, slinging an arm around Clint's neck to give him a noogie, darting behind Steve when the kid gave chase.

 


End file.
